


Deep Space Mining for Treasures Unknown

by Ook



Category: Marvel Avengers Movie Universe, X Men: First Class (2011)
Genre: Alien Medicine: Not always good for humans, Alien Names Are Hard., Aliens, Author needs therapy, Author writes fanfic instead, Charles Is a Darling, Charles gets hugs, Charles is almost always a darling, Charles needs hugs, F/M, Families of Choice, First Contact, Healing, Here I go using Tony Stark as a deus ex machina again, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt/Comfort, It came from my brain, Like that's a surprise, M/M, On Hiatus, Self esteem issues like crazy, Some of them are Alien Cats, Space AU, Torture, Trauma, Who are Cats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:19:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 42,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/pseuds/Ook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Telepath-Diplomat Charles Xavier runs into trouble while assisting the negotiations between his step father's mining company and some felinoid inhabitants of a planet rich in rare metals. </p><p>The trouble being, he finds he has more in common with the aliens than with the humans.</p><p>Space guns! Space ships! Space torture! Space medicine!</p><p>This has been placed on Hiatus until I get the time/muse inspiration to edit and beta what's already up here. There's been a major improvement in my writing since I started this (I think) and I cannot continue this until the part already up ,atches what will be written later. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Marko Industries (built on the corpse of Xavier Inc., after the CEO owner of one had married the widow of the other’s founder) had an insatiable appetite for rare metal ores, especially on planets that were habitable for human miners. They’d part sponsored a fly-by survey of a number of planets, and found metals and a breathable – if hot- atmosphere on XT-459-437-TRO. 

XT-459-437-TRO was too minor and out of the way to have a name, only a designation, another mark in its favour. No one would be arguing for it to become a full, self supporting colony; it was too far away, too expensive to terraform. That made it perfect, in Kurt Marko’s eyes.

First Ground Exploration had confirmed the presence of metal and air, plus an earth like gravity, so a mining outpost had been planned, before the spanner in the works had been found. XT-459-437-TRO was already inhabited. By a bunch of two legged kitty cats who called themselves the People. Unfortunately, a member of the First Ground team had followed the law, and reported the People’s furry presence on XT-459-437-TRO, through official, undeniable channels.

A FAC- First Alien Contact- team had been assigned and dispatched before Kurt could… delay them long enough. Plus there was always a chance the FAC team might negotiate for themselves or the GG- Galactic Government- rather than for Marko Industries, when it came to the metal. That meant complications, and complications were always expensive.

A mark in the Marko’s favour was the nature of the People themselves. Seemed the dumb pussies liked to keep work (and everything else, Kurt would bet) in the family. Kurt was a family man; and they seemed to prefer dealing with families to the FAC team. They were low-level empaths, too, so utilising a telepath translator-diplomat was mandated. For everyone’s protection, of course.

The problem was, telepaths could find out what you were thinking. And they were often distressingly law-bound. Not surprising, given what happened to readers who broke the law, but, again, it was another complication. One Kurt could do without. He needed a controllable reader.

Kurt knew a telepath. Hated him, of course- everybody decent did. He was good at all the boring diplomacy babble, though. And he was controllable. The years Charles’d spent under Kurt’s eye- and fist- ensured that his stepson knew how to do what he was told when he was told to. The brat was weak. Prissy, weak, and smart mouthed with it, but obedient.

Charlie really hadn’t changed much since his mother had died. He’d’ve been about fifteen then, and Kurt often wished- however much he’d hated her- that Sharon had lived till her son was 18. He’d sorted out the Xavier money when he married her, and it would have been fun to be able to tip the pretentious little snip out on his ear without a clue, or a coin.

But he’d been forced to be Charlie’s legal guardian, instead, responsible for his feeding and clothing and education. Kurt reckoned he’d been the making of little Charlie Xavier. The boy owed him. He’d been close to Raven, the freak result of his and Sharon’s marriage, before he disappeared off to one college or another, taking the brat, and never came back. Which meant Raven’s welfare was another lever, if he ever grew enough of a spine to need leaning on.

So, really, it made sense to order Cain to go dig up little Charlie from whichever dusty library or office the brat was hiding in, and bring them both out here. Charlie was family- thanks to Kurt’s marriage to his alcoholic bitch of a mother. And Cain was his son and heir. A bit of sweet talking to the natives for appearance sake, and then Marco Industries would have a worthwhile mine again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Charles. Charles. Charlie. Chuck. Charles.” Tony half-sung half-whined, repeatedly. Charles didn’t look up from the stack of flimsies he was marking, turning pages mechanically.  
“Don’t call me Charlie, Anthony.” Tony winced. Charles didn’t look up to underline his point. He swapped a red pen for a green one and rubbed his eyes. The harsh light in his office really got to you after the first five hours.

“What’s up? Marking getting you down again? There’s a program for that, you know.” Tony threw a balled up piece of flimsy at him. Charles batted it away without looking. He sighed.  
“Tony, I keep telling you, I have to mark each report myself. I can’t leave it to the software, it’s not reliable enough.” He wished he could drink and mark at the same time; alcohol was often handy around Tony. 

“Mine is.” Tony said, smugly. Charles resisted the temptation to throw his cold coffee at his fellow professor.   
“Yes, I’m sure it is, you genius wonder child,” Charles said, affectionately, “but then I wouldn’t get the feel for how my students are progressing.” Tony made a face.

“And I know you probably don’t care about these things but it’s one of the most rewarding things about teaching, as far as I’m concerned.” Tony enjoyed cherry picking the brightest and snarkiest students and enticing them into his army of minions at Stark Industries. Teaching was not his forte. Tony wrinkled his nose disparagingly. 

Charles turned back to the flimsy, and marked out yet another spelling error. Did they teach them nothing in school these days?  
“Can’t you just” Tony waved his hands wildly. “Them all and find out? Quietly?  
“No, Tony I can’t” Charles mimicked Tony’s wild hand gesture “them all.”   
“But you’re the strongest telepath in three planetary systems?” Tony pouted.

“One; this.” And Charles waved his hands again “Doesn’t actually mean anything, and two, unauthorised scanning or contact is illegal enough to get me dropped in a rehab unit ASAP.” He shuddered. He’d been to one once. It had been a terrifying, awful place, bleak and full of pain, of rage and despair. Never again.

“You know I’d get you out. Talk to me.” Tony looked at Charles pleadingly  
“Eventually, yes, you would. Once you noticed I hadn’t talked to you in six months, I’m sure. Also- and I know you have trouble with this concept, Tony- it’s wrong.” Charles fought back a smile.

“Bleh, your morals. Charles.” He tried to sound as cajoling as possible. “Seriously. What is wrong? Tell Uncle Tony.” He made appealing face; and as ever, it worked. Charles sighed, and put down his marking, turning to look at Tony. Tony blinked and made another pleading face at him.

“Cain came to my office yesterday.” Charles said, quietly.   
“Did he hurt you? You should have called security?” Tony sat up, and looked around for a weapon, out of habit.  
“Relax; he’s not the thug he was when we were children.” Charles said, tiredly.  
“He’s not?” 

Tony sat back, gritting his teeth as he thought of Charles as a kid, bravely insisting his stepbrother didn’t know his own strength, hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t- Charles cocked a weary eyebrow at him, and Tony looked back steadily. Charles and denial were old friends.  
“ No, he had a problem.”

“He’s always had problems, him and his dad.” Tony muttered.   
“Marko Industries has run into a problem on their latest planet, and they want to hire me.” Charles said, flatly.  
“What kind of a problem would they need a telepath for on a mining colony?”  
“It’s not a colony yet.” 

Charles looked more cheerful. “And… Sentient, non human natives.” Tony brightened immediately. “Unknown species.”  
“Oh. Iiiintersesting. That’s either a really good research op or a horror film waiting to happen. Maybe both.” Charles twitched. Tony smiled. His tone sharpened. “What planet? They are offering you the going rate?”

Charles handed over the FAC report his elbow had been resting on. “Over it, actually. I wish I could turn it down.”  
Tony started flicking through the flimsies, skim reading as he went. He looked up, quickly.  
“You mean you’re not? Why? Forgotten what they’re like? Why would you willing spend time breathing the same air as Kurt and Cain-“

“No! No, I haven’t forgotten. That’s why I have to.” Charles hadn’t forgotten a thing.  
“What?” Tony was bewildered.  
“Raven is seventeen, Tony.” Charles said, quietly. Seventeen and a shape shifter, he didn’t add.  
“I know.” Tony grumped. “You shout that at me practically every time I’m within a kilometre of her.” Charles threw a file binder at him. 

“I meant,” he continued patiently, as Tony ducked “that Kurt can challenge me on custody any time he wants.” If he wanted. That was the problem.  
“She’s your sister.” Tony protested. Charles had had to remind him of that a few times. Tony had often thought it was unfair that his –parents had never providing him with siblings. Charles sighed.

“He’s her father. Most of the lawyers who’d touch the cases are either useless or out of my price range.”   
“Probably her father.” Tony offered, helpfully. Charles winced.  
“Well. He never challenged Sharon on it when she was alive.” Sharon had barely noticed Raven and Charles at all, to be honest. Kurt and his son had, but it had never been the sort of attention Charles had wanted to encourage.

“So? He hasn’t taken care of her since you took her with you to college.” Tony protested.  
“I know that.”  
Tony ignored him, continuing:  
“You had to work two jobs to keep both of you while you were in college! Where does he get off-“ He broke off as Charles half shouted at him.  
“I know! I know, alright?” He blinked, suddenly. “But Raven’s too- I don’t want her to feel like a pawn. Her exams are coming up, she needs to study.”

“You’re still frightened of him, aren’t you?” Tony looked at him, shrewdly.  
“No!” Charles protested, indignantly. “Well, possibly. But it’s easier to do this job and hopefully get paid, and be back in time for term to start.”   
“Easier?” Tony said, wryly.  
“For Raven and for me.”

“I don’t like it.” Tony said, obstinately. His tone became more thoughtful “You know, Stark Industries has good lawyers. Lots of them. You could-” Charles interrupted him. It was always better to stop one of Tony’s acts of generosity before he put too much thought into them. Charles had bitter memories of trying --to stop Tony building a fourteen year old Raven her own flying motorbike.

“Tony.” Charles said firmly. “No.” Tony pouted again. Charles did his best to remain firm in the face of Tony’s pleading eyes.  
“But-“  
“Tony. You are a dear friend. But I couldn’t take your money” Charles said gently.  
“Lawyers aren’t money exactly,”  
“-Or your lawyers, Tony!” Charles half laughed.

“Can I help at all?” Tony felt like sulking. “What’s the point of being a genius play boy philanthropist with more money than several gods, if I can’t help my friends?” Charles smiled again, warmly.  
“You can help. I’ve asked Ms Potts to be Raven’s temporary legal guardian; I’d appreciate it if you kept an eye on her. The mission’s going to be several months, at least.”

“Not a problem. Raven’s certainly easy on the eyes.” Tony leered, slightly.  
“Not that kind of eye, Tony!” Charles squawked.  
“Kidding. Challenge accepted. I’ll treat her like she was one of my AIs!” Tony promised, magnanimously. His house AI, Jarvis was quite fond of Raven, and she liked him, too. 

Jarvis was obessed about little things like regular food and sleep and stuff- Raven would be fine, Tony was sure. Maybe he could build her a new wrist ‘puter to help keep her happy and safe, see if he could include his new messaging system. Tony’s thoughts were interrupted.  
“You’re certainly a better mentor to your software than to anything organic.” Charles said, cheerfully. 

“And yet you trust me with your baby sister.” Tony smirked.  
“I trust _Pepper_ with my baby sister.”  
“I still don’t like it, Charles.” It was Charles’ call. Tony had to accept that. It didn’t mean he couldn’t tell his oldest friend he didn’t like it.

“I know.” Charles looked at Tony, and bit his lip. “Look, I promise, if there’s any problems I can’t deal with, I will accept your rescue of me gracefully.”  
“And my lawyers?” Tony demanded, instantly, his mind spinning in several directions at once.  
“ _And_ your lawyers, yes Tony, I will accept them also. Thank you.”

“Good. You can take one of my message units with you to test.” Tony said.” I hate losing people.” There was a pause as he heard what he’d said.” Losing contact with them!” he hastily amended. Charles’ eyes softened. Tony’s parents had both died when he was in college, and Charles was one of the few people who remembered them, apart form Tony.  
“I know, Tony. I know. And I’ll call, if there’s trouble. I promise.”  
“You better.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charles peered at the small brown and blue marble on the flickering VDU, and shifted, uncomfortably on the metal bench. Marko Industries didn’t waste money on luxuries like passenger comfort for those on board its non executive shuttles. The shuttle might be safe, but it wasn’t cosy. The bench had had restraint harnesses bolted to it, but very little in the way of padding.

Of course, Charles was sharing the shuttle trip with crates of rations and raw supplies that were webbed into the good seating, being more important- or at least less replaceable- than a single telepath diplomat. He squinted at the nearest, but the bulk containers were covered with transport codes and classifications he could not read. He looked back at the screen.

So this was XT-459-437-TRO. Not a very memorable name, Charles thought. Still, it wasn’t a memorable place. Just another earth size planet on the edge of explored space. Not that “the edge of explored space” was a constant. Humans and their Allied Alien Associates were pushing back the boundaries faster and faster with every new engine design the ship yards could turn out. 

Hence the hunger for metals that made non colony worlds like this furnace of a planet profitable for mining. Potentially profitable, Charles reminded himself with a sigh, as the g-forces kicked in again, and the shuttle shook. He turned back to his reader and rescanned the thin scatter of information that was all the First Alien Contact and the Survey teams had gathered.

Apparently the People, the locals, were shy, or at least not fond of contact. They lived partially underground, and partially in mud brick towns. FAC blamed the paucity of information on their lack of technology. Charles diagnosed an unwillingness to really get stuck in, to blend in and accept that relying on less machinery didn’t make people more primitive or stupid

FAC and the Survey teams simply claimed there was little to be learnt from a people who didn’t have radio wave or other forms of communication technology beyond verbal message carriers. And, of course, it’s harder to spy on them discreetly through the sattelite, Charles thought. He wondered if they had advanced to clay tiles or perhaps wax slates, like the Romans had used.

If not, it was an idea they might find useful. Not that as a telepath-diplomat he was really was supposed to be full of useful ideas for either- or however many there actually were- sides. Charles sighed again. He was supposed to be the invisible oil on the water; translating, communicating, without an angle, or a side. Charles thought again of Cain’s swagger, his craggy, self satisfied face as he loomed over Charles, demanding his presence on this tiny hot mudball. Why had the Markos wanted him in particular? Oh, there was this family aspect, but he doubted they would have bothered with that unless they wanted. He needed _context_ to work with.

Well, he’d get to that soon enough. Just as soon as the shuttle cooled after landing. He’d meet Stryker’s First Alien Contact team, and hopefully get a second look at the situation. Charles wondered what the man was like; he’d never worked with him or any telepath who had. Hopefully he’d be sensible.

A crate in the back of the shuttle creaked and banged as they descended. Charles gave his bags a reassuring pat as he checked them. His duffle was fairly light. It contained little more than a couple of shipsuits- the soft, thin clothes everyone wore under enviro gear or space suits, and his lap computer. Not that he would need much more, here.

Most of his weight allowance had been taken up by Tony’s latest brainchild; a prototype light speed communication device that could be used on planets and on spaceships. Charles was one of the few people Tony would trust with his new toys; and he was very helpfully going a long way away just as it needed testing. Or so Tony had claimed. Charles leant back with a sigh. He was almost there. A few more hours and he’d be treading the dust of an alien planet; meeting actual intelligent aliens, who had not become part of the Allies yet. The responsibility was a heady blend of fear and excitement.

 

\---------------------------

 

The little complex was hot, although not as oven-like as the surrounding desert wastes. The People had constructed it; out of mudbrick dried in the burning sun, for the FAC team to meet in. Apparently, there were rituals and taboos about seeing their actual homes. Hopefully, Charles thought, they could reassure the People and he could find out what they needed to do to be considered suitable guests for visiting. The taboos had not extended to staying away from the Human compound, so perhaps they were surmountable, if they behaved properly- unlike Cain who was very clearly both bored and resentful about the whole meeting.

“Please, Cain. The People are not stupid, even if their technology levels are not comparable to-“ Charles bit his lip, trying to keep himself in check as Cain tossed aside the FAC cultural briefing notes without reading them. If the great clumsy hulk would just do a little of his own work, Charles’ job would be much easier.  
“Oh, stop nagging, Charlie. I’ll behave when the time comes.” Cain threw a cheerful grin at his father. “How do you put up with his whining, Dad?” Kurt gave a short laugh. He winked, obviously, and then rolled his eyes. Cain smirked.

“It’s useful, from time to time.” Both the Marko men threw contemptuous glances at Charles. After his time as a Marko stepbrother and stepson, it was easy for him to keep his face blank. Charles was not longer quite as terrified of Kurt and Cain Marko as he had been, growing up. As long as Marco Industries managed not to completely destroy these diplomatic talks he had been hired to facilitate, as long as he was able to keep Guardianship of Raven, Charles could cope. He _could._

Cain’s threats had got him out here, to this nameless desert of a planet, but Charles was determined to do his job well, instead of being the rubber stamp Cain had told him he was supposed to be. For Raven’s sake, for his careers’ sake, Charles Xavier could cope with anything but that. He could even cope with a Cain Marko who was - oh, fantastic- now using the FAC notes to pick his teeth with. Kurt was staring at the door, impatiently.

“How long we gotta wait, Charlie? We could’ve taken a ‘thopter and been at their settlement hours ago by now.”  
“The ‘thopter doesn’t fly so well in the day- it gets sand in the intake, and overheats.” Cain snarled, disgusted.   
“It is _important_ that we only go to the People’s home settlements by invitation, and accompanied by them, especially at first. We’re heavily armed and equipped. We don’t want to make them feel threatened, or helpless.” Charles said, word for word from the FAC handbook.

“huh. _I_ reckon people co-operate better when they know they’ve got their backs against the wall.” Kurt glanced at his step son, idly. “ _You_ always did.”  
“Also the ‘thopter belongs to FAC. Meeting the locals without a FAC officer whilst using their transport would be a little difficult.” Charles said, dryly.  
“You couldn’t have just…” Kurt made a hand gesture towards his temple.. The telepath stiffened, wary.  
“You know that mental coercion or influence is illegal, Kurt.” Charles said, very quietly.

“And you’re all about legality, aren’t you, boy?” Charles didn’t reply.  
“Plus those helmets FAC use make ‘em hard to reach, I bet.” Kurt stared at him, pointedly.  
“Never having tried, I wouldn’t know. Kurt.”  
He tried to keep his voice light. Charles repressed a shudder. Implying that a telepath might have even _considered_ breaching another’s mental walls without permission was very dangerous. At least, it was for the telepath in question. 

A proximity chime sounded, breaking the mood.

That meant the envoys from the People were not far out from the neutral meeting room they were currently waiting in. Charles bit his lip, rapidly trying to remember everything the FAC team had discovered, before being forced to turn matters over to Marco Industries. Soft footsteps sounded beyond the door, and Charles tucked away his speculations. 

Four figures stood in the entryway; three taller and one shorter than Charles himself. The People were basically humanoid; two arms, two legs, two eyes, one mouth. They looked different to the flat pics and recordings he’d studied; more alive, more real. Charles found his heart was beating faster, in excitement, not fear. 

 

They had broad, pointed faces, lightly covered, like the rest of the body, in soft-looking fur. This was mottled and striped differently in each person; Charles wondered if the markings perhaps were used as tribal or status symbols. The short tails looked strong and muscular. They all wore the same clothes over their fur; a grey bodysuit, and over it swirling sleeveless robes in different colours. Perhaps they, too, indicated rank or role or function? Charles could not be sure, as the FAC notes had not covered social hierarchy. Or much of anything useful, really.

They obviously used their pointed, flexible ears, to reflect a great deal of emotion, in much the same way that eyebrows did among humans, judging by the amount of moving and twitching those ears were doing. Charles could see the People stood and walked almost on the toes of their feet, with an elongated ankle curving above, like the feline species of Earth. 

The FAC notes had very little by way of useful information, Charles thought, suddenly. How had such a species evolved on a desert planet? Fur was hardly the most sensible choice for a species that had to cope with consistent high temperatures, even if they did live underground much of the time. Perhaps the planet’s atmosphere had shifted, although the First Geographical Survey had turned up nothing to hint at that. Charles grinned, inwardly. The First Survey team hadn’t even noticed the planet held sentient natives! They had detected the metals, tested the atmosphere, and that had been that!

Charles was more interested in the People’s social habits, in the ways they grouped and separated themselves. FAC had noted that family ties, kinship, seemed to be a major factor in the People’s society, but how that worked in practice Charles was eager to find out. Did a family form into the skills units they needed to live, or did the skills units- trades, professions, positions of authority- form into families over time? 

Putting aside his curiosity, for the moment, Charles rose to his feet to greet the new comers. Here they were, and here the People were. Kurt and Cain stayed seated. Charles repressed a burst of frustration; at least they had been willing to be talked out of their enviro gear, and out of their shoes for this meeting. Charles found himself remembering Mrs Pickle, the tabby cat the cook had kept to deal with mice in his childhood when they touched hands. The short, soft fur was as comforting to his fingers as Mrs Pickle had been. Mrs Pickle hadn’t been over six foot tall, of course. The People carried much of her quiet, leashed grace in their movements, though.

He repressed a smile, sending a light telepathic pulse of friendly welcome to all four of the People.  
Of course, Kurt and Cain couldn’t pick it up, with their blockers at full strength. That meant they also missed the flash of gleeful excitement that burst from the little cub? Kitten? Charles couldn’t be sure. She was a telepath too. That explained why she was here, perhaps- unless the People often used children in their negotiations. 

He smiled warmly at the child. The FAC notes had said that smiles had much the same cultural meanings to both species, and he was gratified to note by the little one’s reaction, that they had been correct. The three bigger People: one a mottled dark brown, one a sleek grey almost the shade of her bodysuit and one a lighter brown- all relaxed, and sat.

“It is good to see you here.” Charles spoke clearly, underpinning his speech with a mental flash of meaning. Kurt grunted, pointedly. He wanted the real talking to start.  
“My name is Charles Xavier, I’m a telepath and translator- diplomat. I believe you have already met Kurt and Cain Marko, my… relations.” He gestured at Kurt and Cain.

“I’m Jeannis” – Charles got a mental picture of a tiny blue flower, and he understood that was the meaning of her name. “This Armand”; she indicated the dark brown companion and flashed the picture of a nut simultaneously. “This Angel”- some winged fierce creature- “This Grey.” And she sent a picture of the colour.  
There was a pause. Charles smiled. The People smiled too. 

“Great, we all know each other. Can we get started, now, boy?” Kurt felt a little surprised. The epithet had just slipped out, as it had done so often when Charlie had been younger. He didn’t flinch, though; must have grown a spine in the years they’d not seen each other. He frowned; he’d have to work on that. He shared a glance with Cain.


	4. Chapter 4

Across the room, Grey of Iron Flame's slit pupil eyes narrowed as he caught the byplay among the humans. Two he had met before, albeit briefly. Neither had been particularly pleasant to look upon or talk with. At a nudge from the little Speaker, he turned his attention back to the new human, the courteous one. He spoke clearly, in his own tongue, and politely provided a mental translation simultaneously.

Grey studied the human team’s body movements and the tones to their speech. They did not match with the careful language he was hearing. Grey was prepared to hazard that the translator diplomat was being very… diplomatic in his translation of the other humans’ speech. Well, that was his job, according to the taller human who led the other human House on Sand.  
“Do you suppose he is a juvenile? He is so short; and almost hairless. And his eyes are still blue.” Angel murmured softly. Armand glanced at her in affectionate irritation. His tail twitched. The other humans droned on. Charles provided the translations to Jeannis steadily. 

Jeannis giggled, suddenly.  
“He says he’s an adult by their standard, and some human eyes just stay blue always.” Jeannis informed them, helpfully. Grey and Angel glanced up to meet Charles’ eyes. He smiled, warmly. So. A strong telepath, then, or one gifted with language learning? At least he did not appear afraid or insulted.

Jeannis was already charmed by him; Grey could tell. She had a gift for languages, and was eager to learn more than she could from the tech translator the other humans had been so proud of. Already this Charles Xavier was providing more for her eager young mind. And he did not dismiss her simply because she was young.

“Stop staring at him, cousin,” murmured Angel, softly. “He’s not prey. You’ll scare him. Besides, I saw him first.” One ear flicked. Flirtatiously. The humans appeared not to recognise the gesture. Grey wondered if he should perhaps warn this Charles Xavier. His cousin’s tastes were varied; quite clearly they included a mostly bald alien with kitten blue eyes. Charles might not be able to escape Angel’s hunt easily. 

Then again, Grey would not be entirely averse to adding one such to his family numbers himself, were it not for the fact that adopting other sentient species’ diplomats was rarely perceived as a diplomatic act. A pity, but not everyone had the same opinion of family and kinship as the People. Variety made life more intersting, according to the Master Erich, but then, everyone knew, the Master was no diplomat.

Normally, Grey wouldn’t care about the feelings of beings that had been as irritating as the FAC or Marko Houses, but the situation here on Sand was a difficult one. Still, he had no desire to let Angel think he was thinking of poaching. Feelings ran high about family, and after all, they numbers were far less than he-or anyone-would like them to be.

“My only prey is knowledge. Cousin. And he is wise enough not to fear without reason, I hope.” Angel smiled at him.  
“Your prey is knowledge, you say? But so is mine, I protest.” Her mood shifted. “More seriously, though, there is a difference in manner to him. Perhaps it is the telepathy.” She quirked her ears, questioningly. He carefully did not roll his eyes.

“Perhaps. Enough for now. The others are still talking about metal. And mining rights.”  
“Oh, spare me. I will bring more tea. We must find out how they regard children and dependents before we try to truly deal with them.” Gracefully, she rose and swept out of the room. Charles Xavier stood when she did, the other humans did not. 

Grey pondered the new human. Had he stood as a courtesy? A warning? With so little data, it was hard to say. Armand exchanged a look with him. Yes. This human was definitely different.

\---------------

Kurt grunted with impatience as he struggled into his enviro gear. The meeting had been a wash out. He’d tried to be brisk and business like. They’d politely talked about children, smiled at the brat they had as an interpreter, politely drunk more of that god-awful tea, and waited. And waited. For _what?_ All he wanted was a list of their demands that he had to meet before they started mining, and instead of getting on with it like decent politicians who knew which side of their bread was buttered, there was just endless, delaying talk! Maybe he should ask the FAC-ers if there was anyway of speeding up the talks. Charlie seemed happy to talk for ever. Kurt was a business man, and time was money.

Beside him, Cain shoved his feet back into his boots. They weren’t standard enviro gear. Cain liked his little luxeries and touches of style. The boots were his own design, with studded soles for extra traction. He looked up and fought a spasm of impatience of his own. Charlie was still barefoot, still only wearing his beige ship suit, kneeling to talk to the little furry girl telepath the damn kitty cats had tried to pass off as their negotiator. Useless dreamer. The important bigwigs had already left.

Boots on, he marched over and tapped Charles on the shoulder. Hard.  
“We haven’t got all day, Charlie boy.” He “accidentally” stood on Charlie-boy’s hand, braced against the jagged floor. Cain leant with most of his weight, viciously grinding Charles’ fingers. Charles gasped, and went white, but he didn’t cry out. “Haven’t you learnt when to follow orders yet?” Cain hissed at him.

Charlie boy was still wincing over his poor bleeding hand. Living away from the Marcos must have let him get soft again. Kurt had already started on the long, hot trip back to base. Cain wasn’t sticking around while his step brother made nice to the kitties. Nor was he waiting while Charlie boy looked at his owie some more.   
“Get yourself together, Charlie, we haven’t got all day. Got that timed call to Raven to make.” Cain wondered what Charlie saw in their half sister. Sure, she could look like the girl of your dreams, but she also looked like a scaly blue freak whenever she was asleep or drunk or not concentrating. Still she was family to Charlie. Weird. 

The little kitty looked at him with huge, knowing eyes. They were almost as blue as Charles’s Cain winked at her, as he strode out, saying  
“Don’t be late back to base. Weather’s picking up.”  
Charles crouched silently behind him, still frozen on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one, which is why I've added two today. Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Jeannis was puzzled. As far as she had understood Speaker ‘Sharles, the other two males were his family, and his temporary House members. That meant different things to the humans, Jeannis knew. But not that different, surely? The younger one, had just deliberately hurt ‘Sharles. Had stepped on his hand, on purpose.   
And then he’d blinked at her, as if it was a joke. It wasn’t funny. ‘Sharles was bleeding. Blood was never funny. Ship Master hadn’t needed to tell her that. Well, she was representing House Iron Flame now. And hosting a tactical meeting. Just like ‘Sharles. She would be a good host. She would show them all she was not too young and untrained.

Sharles had risen to his feet, and was looking down at her, now. Looking at his stiff shoulders and his motionless face and ears, Jeannis wanted to hug him, but remembered her manners. She tugged at his sleeve by way of guidance, careful not to touch skin to skin. He smiled at her, and said something in his language she couldn’t understand. She sent him a pulse of puzzlement; he sent her a wave of kindly reassurance- he was alright, honestly- in return.  
Logan had ceased lurking out of sight, accompanying the other talkers (not Speakers, Jeannis was the only one of _them_ present) back through the tunnels to Quarters, leaving Speaker Jeannis (junior) of House Iron Flame alone with Speaker Sharles of House Marko. Well, as alone as she would ever be allowed to be with a human. Which meant Alecks was probably watching her from concealment, now.

Logan, and Frost and both remarked on how none of the humans touched or stood near Sharles, and Jeannis had heard them speculating it was out of respect to his telepathy. Jeannis was a telepath herself, of course (all Speakers were), but she wouldn’t have liked to have no one touch her, ever. But the humans who had landed here were very odd. There seemed to be two Houses- Marko and the FACers, who had different reasons for being on Sand, and argued a lot, but without getting violent, as far as the People could tell, although both seemed to want each other to lose face a lot more than made sense. Then there was only one family- no one else seemed to have family or kinship ties at all. A great big landing party of _Orphans._

But that would be too sad, so Jeannis thought maybe they hadn’t asked the right questions or understood the humans’ replies. There couldn’t so many _Orphans_ , not really. And not working together. They would have adopted each other, made new families out of what they had, or something. No one had no kinship ties except _Orphans_ , and in Jeannis’ storybooks, _Orphans_ were always getting adopted or making a family somehow.Sharles sent her a polite querying buzz _\- where are we going?-_. Jeannis smiled at him, twitching her ears reassuringly, and pulled him into the rest area. The chairs there were proper ones, padded and soft, and long enough for a person to stretch out on for a nap. Not that naps were what Jeannis had in mind. Sharles was sad and his brother/not brother had hurt him on purpose. Jeannis wants to give him a present. The nannies make everyone feel better. The Ship Master used them himself.

They sat, and Jeannis flashed a quick enquiry at Sharles _\- in pain?-_ He looked at his bruised fingers and winced, very slightly. Jeannis popped to her feet, and scrambled for the emergency nanny pack most of the People’s gathering spots held. She picked out the wipes, and handed them over.

\----------

Charles blotted the blood from the grazes Cain had inflicted on his fingers. He tried to calm himself. Nothing about this mission made sense. Kurt and Cain seemed to be simply going through the motions of negotiations, whilst deliberately preventing the FAC team from making any real progress in studying the culture and structures of the People. And First Alien Contact seemed to be letting them.

The FAC steadfastly continued to maintain that any meeting held without a representative from them could not be relied on as binding or legal; while refusing to record no few of the meetings they actually did deign to be present at. What on earth were they both playing at? Didn’t FAC want to complete it’s mission? Charles himself was the only telepath in either group, which was also very odd, for a first contact situation. As was the clear distrust everyone had of his control of his ability. Charles had not met a single human, neither a FAC team member nor a Marko employee who did not wear a blocker. The level of mistrust was almost painful.

No one approached him, asked for his insight or input in analysis, where his telepathic gifts could help. Charles was tired of being treated as a necessary obstacle. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for the genial nature of Stryker, the FAC team leader, or the tech he was testing out for Tony with Raven, Charles would be feeling miserably lonely and isolated. He is alone _now_ , he realises, surfacing from his introspection, suddenly. Jeannis- a curious name, almost human- has skittered off with the used antiseptic wipes. Charles suddenly hopes they didn’t contain anything antipathic to humans. And then she returns, with two metal cups.

Cheered, Charles takes the drink she indicates, and taps his beaker against hers in a mock toast. She grins- he’s already taught her that human gesture, and they both drink as one. Afterwards, he wishes he hadn’t. The drink is bland, and strangely textured, almost gritty. Once drunk, it roils and churns in his belly unpleasantly. Most alarming. He hopes Jeannis hasn’t actually poisoned him.

\----------------

Jeannis hurries off with the blood sample before Sharles notices what she’s doing. She knows how to activate the nanny pack, ever since Alecks hurt himself that time and had to tell her what to do. She tips the dry nannies in the pack into the cup, and squeezes a drop of Sharle’s blood on top. She counts, one veeble, two veeble until she has reached thirty. Adds the activation gel. Counts again, for sixty whole veebles, and then adds drinking water, and stirs. It’s like cooking, almost.

The cup bubbles and then settles, full of lively nannies all ready for Sharles. Jeannis pours herself a juice, and returns to Sharles. He’s still just sat there. He must be really sad. Jeannis hands his drink over, and watches carefully, to make sure he drinks it all up. He does, looking a bit surprised. Jeannis hugs herself in secret hope  
They start to share language the simplest way, by pointing and saying words together. Jeannis wants to build her human vocabulary so she can ask Sharles why his family- his brother- are allowed to hurt him and make him unhappy. The concepts don’t translate into telepathy well; she knows Sharles regards Cain Marko as both _brother/not brother,_ at the same time but she doesn’t know what that _means._

Jeannis needs more words, more human concepts. Ship Master is no help; just says Jeann is too young. Jeannis is not too young to understand that _flooor_ probably means nehstrum, unless Sharles is pointing out the dust on it, rather than naming the thing itself. He wipes a hand across his face, and Jeannis waits, but he doesn’t tell her what he was pointing out. 

\------------------------

Charles is really feeling quite odd. His injured hand is tingling strangely. He tries to keep this blocked off- Jeannis is a telepath, too, and he doesn’t want to broadcast his discomfort to the little girl. She may have slit pupils in irises almost as yellow as Raven’s, and fur that is emerging from kitten tabby into a brilliant ginger, but she’s still a little girl in Charles’ book. A wave of dizziness rolls though him, and he catches his breath, startled. Jeannis looks at him, questioning. He feels too hot. Charles smiles his apology and they return to exchanging words in each other’s language. A table is a _nestrua_ , apparently. An _Ing_ is a cup. 

His mouth has gone dry. But then, Charles muses, this _is_ a desert wor-

 

Everything goes black.


	6. Chapter 6

Sharles is halfway through a word when he crumples up in his chair and drops like a stone onto the floor. Jeannis yells for Alecks immediately, because that is _not_ what the nannies are supposed to do. They make you better, not worse. Aleck hurries in. He says a bad word when he sees the fallen human, bending over him immediately.  
“Space-sear, Jeannie, what happened?”  
“I don’t know! We were just talking and-“  
Alecks rolls Sharles onto his back. He goes easily, limbs splaying out in horribly limp sprawl.  
“Well, he’s still breathing. And, uh, his heart’s still going?” Alecks whirls for the com unit, calling for a medic, medic now! Sharles just keeps on lying quiet and still, not moving or smiling or anything. Jeannis feels awful. This is all her fault, her stupid fault.

“They weren’t supposed to do this!”  
“What?” Alecks shoots a narrow eyed glance at her. Jeann feels the tears begin to well up, and tries to choke them back  
“Nothing.” Sharles looks so still. His face has gone all red.  
“Jeanie.” Alecks speaks slowly, with an effort. “Jeannis, this is important. What wasn’t supposed to do this?”

“The nannies!” Jeannis is in tears, now. She sniffles, miserably  
“What?” Alecks’ fur is standing straight up in fear, or horror.  
“He hurt his hands! Nannies make it better! Medic Frost said so!”   
“Stars, Jeannis! Those are for the People! They’re not designed for humans!”  
“I activated it just like Medic Frost did! I used his blood and counted the veebles and everything.”

Alecks gapes at her for a second, before his ears flick up in respect and then relax in relief as Medic Frost and her team sweep in. It’s kind of obvious, thinks Alecks, that it’s the human who needs the medic. He’s not wrong. She drops to her knees at his side immediately, yanking medtech out of her carry bag.  
“Explain, Officer.” She snaps. Charles’ face is flushed, beaded with sweat, and his breathing is too fast and shallow for her liking.  
“I- I, ah, was observing, for Security, and I think Jeannis accidentally administered the emergency nannies to him.” Alecks offers “He drank something she gave him… talked for about five minutes… and then he just fell. Like someone hit the off switch on him.” Alecks rubs a hand across his head, pushing his short face fur out of place.

“Jeannis?” Master Medic Frost is calm, but she wants answers _now._ Hastily, Jeannis begins to explain. “You used his blood to prime the nannies?” Frost keeps her voice cool and sharp. Jeannis has been taught better than this. Jeannis nods, miserably. Alecks assists the other medic to transfer Charles from the floor to a stretcher, ignoring the sudden medical lecture.  
“Good.” She sounds certain about that.   
“Good?” Jeannis says, hopefully. Medic Frost looks up from the collapsed human, impatiently. Laid on the stretcher, he looks a little better than sprawled all over the floor. Tidier. Cared for. She takes out a test stick, and takes a drop of blood from his arm. The test stick bleeps at her.

“Jeannis of Grey, you know what the nannies are.” Her voice is not kind, but most of her attention is focused on the unconscious man. He is breathing deeply now, regularly.  
“Nanites? They’re, um. They fix you from the inside.” Jeannis offers, carefully.  
“Yes. Priming them means giving them data, a plan to work with. A map. That’s what the blood is for. If you hadn’t added his blood to them, before he drank that cup, they would have been treating Charles Xavier, not as an uncolonised being with an injury, but as a very, very sick man of the People.”

“I don’t understand.” Jeannis says, blankly. Frost sighs, sharply.   
“They would have tried to fix him. Tried to convert him into one of the People. From the inside out.”  
“Oh.” The kitten looks horrified at that.  
“Yes, _oh._ That is why giving them to someone not of the People is forbidden ! You know this, Jeannis! Why did you-“   
The conversation is abruptly cut short when the human moans.

\------------

Charles groans. His head hurts, and his limbs all hate him. What had been in that cup?  
“Something Jeannis should have known better than to give you.” Oh. Had he said that aloud by mistake again?  
“No. I am Frost, a telepath, like you. Like Jeannis” Oh. Well, that was all right then. 

Charles feels himself raised and tilted, and a cup at his lips. He sipped. Water. Lovely, lovely cool fresh water. It tasted much better than the recycled he’d been drinking before. He tries not to broadcast his happiness. Somewhere above him, he felt Jeannis smile. Oops.  
The water seems to be helping. His head is beginning to hurt less already. Cautiously Charles began to consider opening his eyes. It seems too soon to try and move. He gives his mouth a test run, instead.  
“Wha’s wrong w’me?” he slurs.  
“Minor side effects.”

“ _Minor_ side effects? Of what?” He nearly manages to get his eyes open for that one.  
“They will pass. Drink again.”   
Charles does, expecting water again, and is mildly startled to find a cold, savoury broth in the cup. It tastes… good. Satisfying. He finds himself wanting more. Strange. He drinks again, eagerly.  
“Not strange at all. Trace elements. Your body knows you need them, now.”  
“Worst hangover _ever_.” 

And undeserved, too. Charles simply drank what Jeannis gave him out of politeness. He hadn’t even intended to get drunk, hadn’t even had the pleasantness of intoxication. Unfair, that’s what it was. He thinks about trying to sit up.  
“Indeed?” She sounds amused. Warm hands move him firmly back down again.  
“’m talkin’ again?”  
“No.”  
“Sorry. Don’t mean to broadcast.” Bad manners. Wrong. There is something wrong about telepathic broadcasting; Charles is not supposed to, to … something. He is beginning to feel distinctly worried. Something is very wrong, here. Charles hopes it’s not him. He feels a gentle wave of reassurance sweep through him.  
“Don’t fret, so. Sleep.” Her voice is kind, he thinks. Sleep sounds like a lovely idea. 

Jeannis’s little furry hand creeps into his, shyly. Charles’s lips curve up, slightly.   
“I’m sorry.” She is. She really, really is. He can feel it.  
“S’okay.” She hadn’t meant to poison him, he’s sure. And she is so adorable. “Don’… Don’t do it again. Hmm?” Charles tries to smile, but gives up when he realises he still can’t quite open his eyes.  
“She will not.” Frost sounds... edged. What he had been given was not something meant for humans. _-Only the People-_. Charles’ forehead creases. Should he be hearing that? He doesn’t want Jeannis to be in trouble. He squeezes her fingers, reassuringly. He won’t complain. _Who would listen to him, anyway?_ Frost hisses through her teeth at something.

She hadn’t meant it aggressively. He doubts Stryker will see that. the mood in the human camp is not good. The uncomfortable climate, the lack of decent relaxation facilities- it all adds up. Charles won't add to it. _-Not her fault-_ Charles makes another effort to open his eyes. He is so tired. His head hurts.  
“Don’ worry? Won’ tell…” He’s good at keeping a secret, he really is… 

Quietly, Charles slides back into the softly welcoming dark.

\-------------

Master Medic Frost stares at the sleeping human in disbelief. He is unbelievably lucky. Charles Xavier, a human, has just been seeded with nanites designed by, and for, the People. And he is alive. She considers cutting a lock of his hair, to attract fortune. The People could do with more good fortune. The automatic response nanites have to activation in a live body, after life saving, is to colonise, using the host’s resources. That has been known to drain the host’s energy or other resources to the point of death. Xavier is lucky he just passed out. Now that Frost has managed to get the right supplements into him, he should recover swiftly. He won’t even know what happened to him.

Jeannis has never done anything so dangerous or stupid before. They would hardly have been allowing her to develop her telepathy talking with humans if she had showed that she was capable of this. The girl normally has a good grasp of the possible consequences of her actions. If Jeannis hadn’t re programmed the nanites with the human telepath’s own blood, he would have died when they tried to make him into a healthy member of the People. If Charles had been carrying any sort of illness in that blood, the nanites could have replicated it along with themselves until they killed him.

Frost scanned Xavier’s mind; quite prepared to attempt memory modification without permission if necessary. Xavier seemed oddly trusting, for an alien diplomat. He had been rendered unconscious, but was willing to ask- and say- nothing. Fortunate. He can never know what happened to him. The nanites are among the People’s most closely guarded secrets on this planet. They heal injuries and sickness. They keep their host younger, stronger, healthier. 

Wars have been fought over such things before now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, in chapter 7, plot is begining.

Charles stares at his ceiling and muses. It’s early yet, he could go to the mess, but his previous experiences have led him to feel… unwelcome there. Since he waited out the sandstorm (and the accidental alien drug overdose), Charles has been regarded with even more suspicion than seems fair, to him. He tries to be polite, friendly and chaming, and nothing works.If he goes into the rec centre, such as it is… Well. Conversations die off, people leave- even the music stops playing. It’s a little like being a gunslinger walking into the saloon bar in an Ancient Western, without the benefit of scripted glamour. 

He’s already spoken to Raven, via Tony’s new toy. Tony has been testing a new way to send messages faster. He hasn’t explained how it’s supposed to work; but he let Charles and Raven have one of the prototypes as soon as he heard about the latest Marko shenanigans. Charles sends a message to Raven via the public com unit, and the exact same message via Tony’s. Raven keeps Tony up to date as to how the two methods compare for speed and clarity. So far, all seems well; at least Tony hasn't messaged him to let him know he's bored of the silence yet.

He sighs, and dials himself a cup of tea-substitute. This is a dry mission; because of the FAC team’s rules. Which really, only adds to everyone's low mood. Cain or Kurt are sure to have sneaked some alcohol along anyway, but Charles is certain they won’t care to share with him, even if he shared their terrible taste in booze. Perhaps that’s why Jeannis’ drink hit him so hard.

Whatever had been in that drink, the effects had been very far reaching. Charles is pretty sure he knows why it’s restricted to the People when he realises he now understands their language. And can make himself understood in it. It works better when he doesn’t think about it, but it’s there all the time. It makes his role as translator easier- in that he can use his ears as well as his mind- and harder, in that he doesn’t want to reveal that to either FAC or the Markos

Caution has always been his default mode around his dear step family, but he doesn’t quite know what puts him off mentioning things to Stryker. The FAC team leader is genial and welcoming, if a little too fond of dominance displays, but something about him… sets Charles’ teeth on edge. The light in his eyes, at times. The tilt of his words. Something. It can’t be Charles’ telepathy putting him off; like all the FAC team, he wears a blocker, a thin circlet of silvery metal, most of the time. It’s awkward. Charles is not used to being irrational about things. Perhaps it’s because this constant use of a blocker indicates a less trusting, more paranoid individual than William Stryker’s public persona. Perhaps it’s just that Charles likes the People more than his current human companions.

He’s also pretty sure they are more technologically advanced than they appear to be. A drink that can convey comprehension of alien languages? That’s not something you brew up in the back of a cave. Perhaps they have lost scientific knowledge or technological capabilities after a war, or sickness? This is something he could bargain with, if they would only talk about it. But all the diplomatic meeeting seem to lead nowhere.

Perhaps there used to be more of them; their habit of living underground in communal caves makes it hard to estimate precise numbers, but there do not seem to number in the millions, as far as he can tell. Their detailed family and kinship ties make it hard for him to tell when they are talking about the same person, at times. Still, Charles is not trained in Xenoculture or sociology. All he has are few informed guesses, a hunch, and memories of a strange native drink. Perhaps it’s time he started looking at his own teams with a stranger’s eyes. He’s fairly sure they look even stranger to others than the People do to them.

Charles sighs again. He’s finished his awful not tea, and he’s still restless.   
There’s really very little to do here except work, and sleep. He has more energy these days; perhaps it’s the healthy rations and clean living enforced by living in FAC-supplied quarters. Perhaps it’s Jeannis’ drink lingering on in his system.

Charles decides to go for a walk. There are no major predators that operate at night on Sand, and as long as he keeps the buildings in sight, he can look at the stars and drink in the night atmosphere reasonable safely. Medic Frost- he’s still not sure if that is her name, or a translation of it- provided him with one of the People’s grey undersuits when he woke up properly. It slides softly against his skin, and seems to wick away heat and cold equally well. He slips his enviro gear quietly on over it, and goes walking.

The night sky on Sand- the People’s name for XT-459-437-TRO, and much nicer it is, too- is blazing with stars. There’s no wind, for once. The furry creatures that resemble huge-eyed rabbits with small ears-veebles, the People call them- hop about, gnawing on tough shrubs and grooming. They scatter as Charles walks past. He smiles.

He can hear yelling up ahead, and steps off the path, walking along the wall Charles pushes out a tendril of thought, and pulls it back, hastily. Kurt and Cain are yelling loud enough for half the desert to hear.  
quietly. Charles doesn’t want to get caught up in yet another Marko family quarrel.  
The voices, spill out from the ground survey truck.   
“Are you kidding me? Because of a bunch a dumb alien animals, I could miss my targets? The company could miss _production levels?_ ” Kurt is raging.  
“Dad. Charlie pointed it out.” Hearing his name in his stepbrother’s mouth makes Charles flinch, reflexively. Cain continues, less loudly.

“If the People have a level of sentience beyond some blah de blah stuff, then yeah. They were here first, so the law says-“  
“I don’t give a good goddamn crap who was where first! You’ve seen the scans!” There’s a distant bong of metal. Kurt has probably just punched something. Charles flinches, reflexively. Kurt rages on  
“They’re sitting on a goddamn mine’s worth of my ore! I need it, it’s Marko Industry’s ore!”  
“I know, dad.” Cain didn’t sound very upset. More… gleeful?  
“There’s hardly any of them, anyway. We keep meeting the same ones.”   
“Stryker says he thinks that could be the only settlement of them on the planet. That’s why-“

“Stryker! Man’s a fool.” Kurt says, shortly.  
“A useful one, though.” Cain’s voice is… insinuating.  
“Yeah, but if they only have the one settlement, they’ll say there’s nowhere to be moved to.” Kurt grumbled.  
“Who says we have to move ‘em?” Cain’s voice is slyly insinuating. “We’ve got blasting jelly. The FAC team have blasters.”   
“Hah! You’re right there, son!”  
Charles reeled backwards, back into his room. He collapsed on the bed, staring. He couldn’t believe what he overheard. Forced evacuation. Genocide, for the sake of financial profit. Not even Cain and Kurt could be that ruthless, that uncaring… could they? 

He booted up Tony’s comunit, and flashed off a single quick message, an apology for the missing message he should have sent earlier, plus a request for a face to face conversation later. He shoved the unit back into the cupboard to re consider what he heard.  
Charles gnawed at his lower lip. Kurt and Cain would do anything if they thought they could get away with it. Particularly if it made a profit. He had to act. Charles might have misunderstood. No. He must have misunderstood. The FAC team had been unable to locate any other settlements on the planet. 

That meant all that stood between Marko Industries and a mining outpost supplying cheap, easily extracted metal ores, was a single community of sentient aliens. This community was not protected by any treaties with the GG. They were also aliens who did not appear to use much tech, or utilise a standing army. If the planet had had no sentient natives, ore extraction could be carried out without much regard to the environmental consequences. Cheaper ore meant more profit. More market share. And no mission for the FAC team. Stryker wouldn’t like that. Charles gnawed at his lower lip again, fretting.

Stryker- if he went to Stryker, Kurt and Cain would know. And be furious, when they were dumped off the planet, maybe even fined. Charles wouldn’t any form of petty revenge past them. Cain had made enough threats about what they were willing to do if he didn’t agree to take the job in the first place. Raven’s custody would be used against them both, Charles was sure. He’d have to swallow his pride and go to Tony and his lawyers for help over that. His contract would go unpaid. They’d do their best to revoke his certification as a telepath, maybe even try to get him fired from the college. 

Kurt and Cain were contemplating a massacre, possibly even genocide. Charles couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. Yes. Better to go to Stryker now, with his worries. Nip the whole thing in the bud. With no actual crime committed yet, perhaps the knowledge they were being watched and reported on might prevent it.

Charles knew he had to make a stand. He got up.

“After all, I have to look in the mirror _sometimes._ ” He muttered to himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the space torture in it. Please be warned by this, and proceed only if prepared for it.

Kurt and Cain had gone, when Charles slipped out again. He dodged through the night easily. The desert air cut keenly and coldly through his ship suit, making him shiver. There wasn’t any point in putting on enviro gear for such a short trip. And he doesn’t need a torch. His night sight is much better here. Probably the starlight being so much fiercer helps. Charles knocked on the glass window bu the duty officer’s nodding head. She fixed him with a fierce glare.  
“Yeah?”   
“I need to speak to Commander Stryker.”  
“You ‘an half the base.” She's curt and grumpy; like most of the FAC team.  
“Now, please.” Charles smiled his widest smile at her. Grumbling, she stood, buzzed him in and walked him to a meeting room.   
She was gone for quite some time. Charles seated himself, and continued to worry. He didn’t know what the People’s resources were, but he suspected they might be more than FAC team thought. Certainly more than Cain or Kurt had reckoned them to be; but if they were already discussing genocide...

Charles closed his eyes, tipped his head back and sent his mind out, searching. The mind glow of the People’s settlement was dimmer than the human base. Possibly because they were underground. Still, Master Medic Frost had invited him to make contact if his health worried him, so hopefully she would not be surpirsed by this.

This wasn’t Charles’s health, but he thought it would be acceptable. A show of good will and honest concern

 _-Frost. Master Medic Frost. Frost.-_ He sent, clear and sharply.

Her response was very swift. 

_-Who calls?-_

_-Charles Xavier.-_

Charles fought the temptation to apologise for the late hour; felt her amusement rise before her mind voice grew concerned.   
_-Your range_ is _extensive. Are you well?_ -  
 _-Yes. But-_ He paused. _I believe some of the human party have become impatient enough to behave wrongly. To-_  
 _-Explain!-_

Her mind is focused now, holding his with fierce interest.  
Charles sent her his concerns: Kurt and Cain’s impatience, their need for the ores, their view of the People as a block to their desired progress. Their discussion of weapons. Their dismissal of human law. He felt her shock, spoke to reassure her.  
 _I’m dealing with it, of course, but-_  
At that moment the door opened and shut, and Commander Stryker walked in. Charles jerked upright, and temporarily lost the connection with Frost.  
“You wanted to see me, my boy?” Charles ignores the false joviality of that ‘my boy,’ and tells him. Not everything. Only overhearing the conversation, and his concerns that Marko Industries might be, might be-

It’s hard to actually say what they’re planning, but Stryker looked suitably grave.  
“Thank you for coming to me with this, Charles. I have to ask- have you had these concerns long?”  
“Not long, no. As soon as I heard the conversation and realised it was more than sour grapes-“  
“Ah, you came straight to me? The older man looks gratified. “Did you tell anyone on your side of the site? Send a message to Central?”   
“No- I don’t know who to trust over there. And nothing has happened yet, as far as I know.” Charles frowns.   
“Who to trust. Yes, indeed.” He stood up, ponderously. “I’ll get a few of mine out of bed, and be right back.”

Charles reached out for Frost again, focusing towards her. The mind glow of the settlement feels oddly disturbed. Stryker patted Charles on the shoulder, reassuringly. Charles felt a sharp sting in his neck. Reflexively, he slapped at it, meeting Stryker’s gaze with a startled glance. Stryker smiled, blandly. Charles frowned, bewildred.

Suddenly, Charles’ telepathic link dissipated, melting like fog. Startled, he groped after it, only to find everything vanished. The mind glows - gone. The buzz of Stryker’s block protected mind- gone. Charles gaped in shock.  
“You.. you drugged me?” The world turned muffled, silent. Stifled. Charles blinked, swaying in the chair. He fought to gather his thoughts. It was hard; the blocker drugs pulling him under. They made his thoughts fuzzier.  
“I am sorry. It was necessary, you see. We couldn’t risk you trying to influence events telepathically.” Charles gaped at the insult.

“I would never-“ Charles broke off, thinking furiously. “Wait. Why would you be worried about me influencing _you?_ All I want you to do is stop the Marko’s plans before anyone dies. That’s your job. I’ve come to you because I’m worried about the native inhabitants’ interaction with Marko Industries. Just report it to Central and-”  
“I’ve always believed in being careful, Charles. And comfortable.”  
“Comfortable? I tell you the Markos may be considering genocide and you-  
“Financially comfortable.” Stryker said, meaningfully. 

The door opened. Stryker even managed to look sorry. But Charles could no longer tell if it was genuine, and he realised how much of a fool he had been. _He didn’t send a message._ Central won't know anything about this until it is far too late.

Charles realised just how badly he had misjudged the situation when he saw both Kurt and Cain Marko standing there. Charles swallowed. He stood up, slowly. Kurt watched him, cruelly amused. Cain was in the doorway, blocking the exit. There were no other exits. He resisted the temptation to beg. Apart from Charles being fond of his dignity, he knew it wouldn’t work.   
“Well, Charlie. Looks like you’re not as stupid as we thought. Now’s the time to prove you’re smart.”  
“What?” Charles really hoped Kurt was not planning to invite him into their sick little plot. Surely they couldn’t believe Charles would _ever-_

“You overheard some stuff. Think you might have… misheard? There's momey in deafness, I've heard.” Kurt said, almost gently. Charles shook his head in disbelief.  
“Misheard what? You mean you aren’t planning to kill for-”  
“Now, Charlie, don’t get excited. Killing’s a nasty word. This is more like pest control.” Cain said, cheerfully.   
_“Pest control?”_ Charles shouted.   
“Lucrative pest control.” Stryker added, firmly. “Don’t you have a sister to provide for?” Charles shook his head in disbelief.

“The People are sentient! Do you have any idea-“ He broke off as Cain manhandled him into a chair.  
“You know, son,” Kurt observed. “You’re right. I don’t know much about the kitty cats. Why don’t you enlighten me?” Charles struggled against Cain’s meaty fists pinning him into his seat. The situation felt incredible; nightmarish.  
“Yes.” Stryker added, as he reached inside his desk, producing a notebook “For example, do they have a large organised group of fighters, or weapons? How many?” 

_Oh god._  
Charles wondered, a little hysterically, if he should be pleased they had given up on him joining in with their sick little murder plot so fast.  
“I’ve got nothing to say.” Charles managed to grit out, desperately.  
“Oh, please, Mr Xavier. There is no need for this… posturing. Either you’ll tell us now, or you’ll do it later.” 

“So. Charlie boy. The dumb cats. How many of them are there?” Kurt asked.  
“I have nothing to say to any of you.” Charles said, steadily. Cain punched him. Charles reeled back. Dazed, he put a hand up to his nose and stared at the blood on his fingers. Kurt and Stryker exchanged a glance. Stryker pulled out a small, metallic device, and squinted at it. Kurt nodded. _Why_ hadn’t he sent off a message to Central? Charles cursed himself, furiously. Cain threw him back down into the chair. Briskly he used zip ties to fasten Charles’ arms to the chair arms, ignoring his stepbrother’s struggles. The ties bit through the thin cloth of Charles’ shipsuit. 

“How many? Are there any religious leaders we could target?” Stryker seemed unstoppable and imperturbable.  
“I have nothing to-“ Cain punched him again. Charles lashed out with a foot, trying for Cain’s knee, leg-anything. Cain evaded him, easily, and used the ties to fasten his ankles to the legs of the chair.   
Kurt backhanded him. Charles’s head jerked back. Stryker looked annoyed.  
“Please, Mr Marko. I have a better method. Nerve-stim. Try setting two.”   
Stryker passed the little machine to Cain. Charles tried to scramble to his feet, to get away, ignoring the chair he was tied to.   
“Charlie-“  
“Nothing. To. Say.” Charles wished he had enough saliva to spit at them. 

Cain and pressed the slender metal rod to Charles’s left hand. A silvery bolt of burning pain darted from the machine, through Charles’ hand and up into his arm. He had to fight not to cry out in pain. Dumbly, defiantly, Charles shook his head. Cain spoke.  
“Don’t be stupid, Charlie. We can do this all night.” He said nothing in reply. Cain flicked the machine into another setting. He ripped at the top of Charles’ ship suit, exposing a shoulder. Impatiently, he pulled at the black material, widening the tear to reveal more of Charles’ bare skin. This time he jabbed the device into Charles’ chest, and held it there for a long minute. This time, the pain was worse

Charles screamed and jerked against the bonds holding him, helplessly.

\----------------------------

The fierce heat of the day was fading from the FAC building. A glorious sunset went ignored through the long windows. It painted Charles’ slack face and limp body in soft gold. His chest was speckled with nerve-stim burns. Charles’ eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow. He sagged in his bonds, unconscious. Stryker threw cold water on his face. It had no effect; Charles didn’t move. The zip ties were the only thing keeping him seated. The rags of his ship suit top dangled sadly off his arms; only the fact that his wrists were still zip-tied to the chair kept them from falling to the floor.  
“Well?” Kurt demanded, impatiently.

“Damn, Charlie-boy is stubborn. Nothin’ this time, either.” Cain’s therma knife cut through the plastic ties easily. Charles slithered to the floor, still unconscious. Cain turned Charles over with his foot. Charles didn’t react. Cain pressed his boot down on his stepbrother’s’ chest, watching his breathing grow laboured under the increased weight.   
“Nothing? No useful information at all? Didn’t he learn _anything_ we can use about their culture, their weapons?” Stryker seemed irritated. Kurt shrugged.  
“Not that he’d say. I guess we’re just gonna have to try harder to provoke ‘em. What’re we doing with Charlie?” Cain glanced at Stryker, avoiding his father’s gaze. 

“Dump the body.” Stryker was brisk and businesslike again. “Near the settlement. If it’s found, we can claim they did it. If not…. Well, we can still blame the vicious natives we had to forcefully subdue, can’t we?” Kurt blinked, and nodded.  
“Saves on a grave plot.” He grinned.  
“You think we can get away with that?” Cain lifted his foot away his stepbrother.  
“Normally, of course, we’d have to worry about friends and relations of the deceased requesting a full enquiry, but _you_ won’t be doing anything so irritating, will you?” Stryker smiled, thinly.

“Not if I get my ore.” Kurt said, calmly. His eyes were cold and watchful.  
“Charlie-boy didn’t go in for influential friends.” Cain offered.  
“Well, then. We wait for a month or so”- Kurt growled a protest. Stryker lifted a hand. “We wait for a month or so, for plausibility, while my people stir things up, get the natives edgy, violent, and then we move.”  
“Why the wait?”

“Plausibility! We have to wait long enough that if Xavier had really just gone missing, we’d have written him off. We can’t act as if we know he’s dead before we should. You can have your mines open soon enough.” Kurt nodded, reluctantly.  
“And when they do, you’ll get the rest of your share.”  
“I’d better.” The smile the two shared was entirely insincere. 

Kurt glanced at the limp and battered body on the floor, then at his son.  
“Cain. Take the ‘thopter. Take Schmidt, and drop Charlie off somewhere, before it gets dark.”  
“Nearer the settlement than the base, if possible.” Cautioned Stryker.  
“He’s still breathing. What if I-” Cain protested.   
“Don’t bother putting him in his enviro gear. Desert nights are cold.” Stryker was still jovial. “He can’t last more than a few hours once the sun’s up.”

“Maybe if I-” Cain tried again. Damnit, he’d wanted to beat Charlie, break him so he knew Cain was smarter, was stronger, always. He always had, ever since his stepbrother had first smiled at him. Killing Charlie just meant he’d be dead. Kurt snapped, irritably.  
“He won’t wake up again, anyway. We didn’t get anything from him before, there’s no point in waiting and trying again. Do it.”   
Cain shrugged. His father gave him a hard stare, holding it until he nodded in agreement. Cain bent and dragged the barely breathing body of his stepbrother off the floor, carelessly. Charles didn’t move or resist being lifted. His head dangled limply as Cain swung him over his shoulder. Cain strode out of the room towards the vehicle pen without another word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate aftercare for space torture in this one. Trauma and such like. Readers, ye be warned.

Sean wishes he wasn’t the medic for Logan’s patrol. They have a higher rate of injuries than any other grouping in Clan Iron Flame. This means they tend to require medical treatment more often than any other patrol as well. And it’s not that Sean resents treating any of his team mates. His team mates are his Clan, his family. Like any member of the People, Sean holds to his family as tightly as they hold to him.

It’s just that, well. He wishes they helped with the carrying of the extra supplies he needs, too. Or at least acknowledged that he is slower not because he’s weaker, or lazy, but because he’s carrying more. Sand is a desert planet, and it is hot and, well, sandy. It’s no place to be labouring along with a pack twice as heavy as everyone else’s. But Sean is a medic, one with a ridiculous name (thank you, Ship Master) and so he endures. He’s slogging along with the patrol. Security has been twitchy ever since they came here, which is probably something to do the vulnerability of the Quarters, and it’s only got worse since the humans came back, but today they’re like nothing Sean has ever seen before.

He’s not quite sure why. There was an early morning Clan wide alert from Master Medic Frost, of all people, and then Ship Master ordered complete evacuation back to Quarters. That was two days ago; the tensions have not gone away. Now the human‘s shuttle has been spotted on the outskirts of the long perimeter. Everyone’s out and patrolling, including Sean and his heavy, heavy medic’s pack.  
They’re up under the ridge that leads to the Wrong Rocks (Ship Master’s naming privileges should have been revoked eons ago), when a call goes up for the medic. It’s Tow calling, and there’s an indefinable edge of something in her voice that gets Sean moving fast.

When he gets to her, he sees why. Huddled under the shadow of a rock is a badly injured human. He- Sean is pretty sure it’s a he- is staring at them out of a hugely bruised face, gasping and twitching like a dying veeble. The one kitten- blue eye he seems to be able to open is glazed with fear and pain. His chest is bare, and covered in ugly marks. He’s sunburnt even hiding in the shade. Sean drops to his knees, medic training cutting in, and pulls his scanner. As he tries to adjust it for alien life forms, he talks, in what he hopes is a gentle, reassuring voice. The human is in bad shape. Sean wonders what happened, and how it- he got here. Wrong Rocks are closer to Quarters than they are to the human outpost.

“Hey, there.” The human makes a faint noise, and pulls away as Sean comes closer. “You probably can’t understand me, but-”   
“C-can. I,I can. Understand.” His words are slurred. Sean glances at Tow, she shrugs. They both know who this is, now. There had been an announcement circulated, weeks back, that one of the humans was a telepath who could speak Basic. Nothing was said about his accent, though, so Sean is not sure if Charles Xavier has a concussion to go with the facial injuries, or always sounds like that.  
“You can? Good. I’m a Medic, and this is my friend, Towie.” She makes a wry face at the nick-name. Xavier doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m gonna give you a quick look over. Acceptable?”   
“O-okay.” Sean doesn’t recognise the word; but he can see Xavier’s shoulders relax, just a little. He starts scanning. 

Xavier doesn’t talk, just stares at Tow, or through her, numbly. When the scanner returns its report, Sean wants to swear. The human is in worse shape than he had thought. The scanner lists it all, emotionlessly: Broken arm, wrist and fingers. Cracked ribs. Dehydration. Lacerations, bruises and burns on all limbs, chest, belly and back. Shock. Plus possible internal injuries and internal bleeding. Sean is not so sure about the state of Xavier’s internals, as the scanner is also reporting that the human has probably just miscarried, and as far as Sean knows, human females do the carrying part of reproduction. The machine also reports his nanite levels are dangerously low. Sean ignores that last one, of course they’re low. Charles Xavier isn’t one of the People, he hasn’t _got_ any nanites to be measured.

Sean starts pulling out wipes and bandages. And burn cream. Abruptly, he realises, he can’t use the rehydration pouches in his pack; they’re made for one of the People, and will likely kill a human. Their blood is too different.  
“Tow, give him some water.” Tow pulls her canteen, flicks it open. She crouches to help Xavier drink. The rest of the patrol starts crowding up, eager to help, or just find out what’s going on. Xavier flinches back from all the new faces, trying to shrink into himself again. The water spills, splattering his face and the grubby tattered trousers he’s wearing. Sean glares, and they back off some.

“What’s happening, medic? Report.” Logan sounds calm, so it looks like Xavier’s the only surprising find today. Sean hopes things stay that way.  
“He’s hurt. I’m fixing it.” Sean doesn’t look away from the burns he’s sponging. Medic focus keeps him from looking at his Patrol Leader as he talks. The burns are _everywhere._ Against the human’s soft bare skin, they look incredibly lurid. They’re like nothing Sean’s seen before. The marks are all unpleasantly identical; small, circular things about the length of a thumb, that have also caused deep bruising. It’s as if they were stamped out by a tool of some sort. Sean smoothes more cream on, gently. 

Xavier gasps in pain. Sean wishes he could risk painkillers, but he doesn’t know what’s already in Xavier’s system, or how he’d react to the People’s drugs. He’s already worried about the antiseptic and burn cream, and those are going on Xavier’s skin, not in him.   
“Well, be quick. Patch him up, and I’ll send a runner to the human base; let them know we’ve found him and we can return him.” Logan says, curtly. The human’s eye goes wider. He starts babbling, frantic. His hand is shaking as he clutches at Sean’s sleeve in appeal. Sean tries to detach him, but he’s got a really tight grip.  
“No, don’t do that, _please-_ “ 

“You understood that? Guess you’ll be Xavier then.” Logan observes. “An’ just why not? You-“ He stops. "Humans. Huh." Logan thinks for a moment, and then curses, vilely.  
“You don’t want to go back because one of them did that to you.” His tone is flat. He’s not asking a question. He knows. “And no-one’ll stop them doing it again?” The human shakes his head. Sean feels sick.   
“You have to get out of here”. The human whispers, tonelessly. “They- they’re planning to kill you all, for the ore. You- you - they have blasters, and bombs, and-” 

Sean starts strapping the human’s broken arm to his side, for safe travel. He’s _not_ going to risk splinting or casting an alien’s limb without a decent scan.  
“They have weapons, huh.” Logan observes, quietly. Sean recognises that tone. Logan is furious. Or getting close to it. The human swallows, dryly. He is trembling harder now, as the desert dusk gives way to true night. Sean pulls the emergency blanket from his pack, and wraps it around his shaking shoulders.Charles Xavier’s head sags, then jerks back up. The human’s skin is getting paler and paler. He keeps talking, low and desperate. 

“Please. You’re all in danger. You need to warn your people.” Logan’s ears are flat to his head. So are everyone else’s. Sean can’t speak. Tow just stares.  
“I- I tried to reach Frost. I don’t know how much got through, I tried-” Logan crouches then, turning Xavier’s head with one gentle hand, so the humans’ still functioning eye is looking straight at him. Logan cuts through the babble.  
“Frost heard you. We were warned. You got through.” He releases Xavier’s head and the human slumps. Xavier sways dangerously as he goes limp in what Sean thinks is relief. His eye flutters shut for a long moment. Towie puts an arm out to support him, and the human flinches again. Logan turns his head, and hisses “Quest, Az, if you’re not done putting the stretcher up yet, I’m gonna tie your tails in a knot!” He turns back.

“We’re going to move you in a minute, on to the stretcher.” Logan grunts.  
Xavier blinks, confused, as Quest and Az move up and lay the stretcher down as near to him as they can manage. Logan touches his throat communicator, and speaks through it.  
“Patrol Team Grey 12, coming in quick, one injured.” His voice is harsh but clear. Coms replies swiftly.  
“Acknowledged, Patrol Leader. Injuries?” Logan gestures at Sean. Sean gives a quick report, adding:  
“And he’ll need a shielded room.”

“Clarify?” It is an odd request- there aren’t many true telepaths in the clan.  
“We’re bringing in the human translator diplomat, for urgent medical aid. He’s a telepath.” Sean snaps. They don’t have time for this. Xavier doesn’t have time for this, not if he’s going to recover. Az and Quest move with Tow, on the count of four, and lay Xavier mostly flat. He winces as he’s shifted- probably his ribs and arm, Sean thinks. Xavier is pleading again. The move to the stretcher seems to have confused him. Or perhaps it’s the lying down. He begs franticly again.

“Please don’t send me back. I can’t- I can’t. They keep asking me, and I can’t-”  
“What did they keep asking?” Sean interrupts. He doesn’t understand. What would the human need to know about the People so desperately as to justify doing this? Why would one of their own resist them so?  
Xavier must have heard that, because he answers, rolling his head to stare at Sean.   
“About the People. Resources. Weapons. Numbers. F-fighting techniques, and, and _I can’t.”_  
His breathing is ragged and desperate as Sean spreads the emergency blanket over him.

“Can’t what, bub?” Logan asks quietly. He’s popping his claws, now, working them out and in. The other humans, they- they did this. To one of their own. It’s wrong. Like seriously wrong, something that should not be possible. People don't _do that_ to their own.

 

“Keep not answering.” Xavier gasps, and passes out.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ripples of Charles' rescue spread out among the People. Also, Charles makes a friend and realizes something important about his surroundings.

“Report, please.” The Ship Master doesn’t look away from his comp table display. He’s flicking the displays this way and that, restless. His unusual grey green eyes cut from a report on food supplies to some engineering stats, before flicking over the two standing medics in front of him. Sean breathes in. Readies himself for reporting in the formal mode, ears up and tail under control. He starts to speak, calmly.

“The human telepath translator-diplomat was discovered by Patrol Grey 12 on sweep. Received immediate emergency treatment for multiple burns, dehydration, broken bones, trauma-“   
“I’ll be asking Frost for the medical report. Why did you bring him into the Quarters?” His voice is hard, unmoved by the litany of pain Sean has been reciting. Sean blinks at him for a moment.  
“He needed treatment! I’ve no _medical_ experience with humans. And the settlement was already evacuated into Quarters on your orders, sir. Where was I supposed to take him?” Sean pauses for a moment, and tries to adjust his tone back to formal. He takes a deep breath. “I mean, I was reasonably sure he was in danger of death without medical treatment I couldn’t provide, sir.”

The Ship Master’s eyes flash. Sean gulps. Idly, the Ship Master taps the desk, bringing up vid stills of the patrol entering Quarters. He seems to be focusing on Xavier’s battered face. Between the bruises and the pallor, the human looks like death in a basket, Sean thinks.  
" The idea that we’re trying to remain uninvolved, that we need to keep a low profile _at least_ until the Fleet gets here to evaluate First Contact posibilities, here didn’t occur to you?” His voice is harsh with suspicion, and something else, something Sean can’t quite identify. “And the idea of returning him to his own kind, who actually have medics more experienced in treating humans, _also_ did not occur to you?” 

“Oh, it occurred, all right. Sir. It was Logan’s first reaction. Xavier asked us not to.” Sean shakes his head, remembering. Erik’s pale eyes narrow, suddenly suspicious. He cuts into Sean’s speech, abruptly.  
“He asked? He’s a telepath. Are you sure he used no mental influence?” His blunt hands curl into fists.   
“Yes!” Snaps Sean. “Sir,” he adds, belatedly.  
“If I may clarify, sir?” The Master Medic’s voice is calm, detached. The Ship Master nods, sharply. “I have identified massive amounts of what I believe to be human telepathy blocking drugs in Charles Xavier’s blood. It’s broadly similar to something I’ve used before.” She drops the flimsies on his desk. 

“The chemical breakdown patterns indicate they were administered before he was found. He could not have influenced Sean, let alone the entire patrol, to so much as scratch his nose.” The Ship Master brings up the security feed of the shielded room where Xavier is recovering. The human is asleep or unconscious. In the dim light the cuts and burns stand out on his pale bare skin in sharp relief. Sean catches himself wondering why they didn’t use nu-skin on them, before returning to the question at hand  
.  
“He asked us not to return him to the human base because that was where he was injured. _They hurt him_.” Sean tries to mimic Frost’s impersonal calm; but a quirk of the Ship Master’s lips tells him he wasn’t successful. “He also said they were interrogating him for tactical info prior to an attack on us, sir.” Sean adds.  
The Ship Master swings from his reports, sharply. His green grey eyes are lit, like he’s finally spotted his prey. He demands, quickly: 

“And did they break him? Did he talk? What do they know of us?”  
“He said he didn’t. That he couldn’t keep quiet if we sent him back” Sean offers, hopefully. He knows as well as Frost that anyone can _say_ they didn’t talk. The Master snorts. Yeah, he’s cynical, too. Sean winces. Xavier looks pretty broken on screen, even if the patrol are all fairly certain the reason the humans had dumped Xavier out to die was because he’d managed to hold his tongue, or persuade them he didn’t know anything more. He knows better than to launch into a heated defence of the poor human, though. Not with the Ship Master in his current mood. 

“Could this be… some kind of a set up? Rough an agent up a little, to plant a spy on us? Some of the humans are related-”  
Sean splutters. That’s pretty paranoid, even for Eri- for the Ship Master. Whose protectiveness of his ship clan is fast approaching legend, among the People.  
“Unlikely, even if he was very dedicated to his cause.” Frost says coolly. “He would have died, even with-” She breaks off, glancing at Sean. “If he had not been located and treated by Grey 12, my medical opinion is that Charles Xavier would not have survived the night. Being located and successfully treated by a patrol within that time window was not something the humans could have relied upon to happen.” Frost continues.

“We also don’t know how much Xavier knows about us to spill.” The Ship Master flicks a sharp look at Frost. She responds.  
“He’s not regained coherent consciousness yet; but when he does, I’ll attempt to confirm and clarify.”   
“Do so. Keep me informed.” The Ship Master nods, sharply. “And… keep an eye on him.” The Master Medic taps Sean on the arm and they both turn to go.

Erik is looking at the vid feed again as they leave.

\---------------------------------------------------------

It was the _silence_ that woke him up, Charles thought. He felt blurry and confused. The silence echoed in his mind like wind in a bottle. He sat up, cautiously. Every nerve, every muscle, every joint _screamed_ at him to lie back down again. Charles refused to give in to his body’s weakness. He‘s always been stubborn. Charles lifted the light blanket spread over him and looked down. He was wearing short trousers of some cottony stuff, and bandages. Lots of bandages. Nothing else. Cautiously, he raised his arm, and hissed in pain. It was protected by a heavy cast. Where _was_ he? 

Charles was lying on a bed, in a metal-filled room he had never seen before. He felt panic approaching. He held it off grimly. Charles was not giving up just yet; there must be something he could do. He staggered off the bed and stumbled to the door. He couldn’t open it, not with only one arm working. It must be locked. He glanced down and saw an airlock ridge, which meant it was designed to be airtight when sealed. Worse and worse. He must be on a spaceship. The silence persisted. He must still be full of blocking drugs. There was no point in trying to reach for Frost or anyone else again. Had he… Didn’t he get away? 

Charles searched his memories, frantically, and came up with faint picture of kind, slit pupiled eyes looking at him and gentle hands on his wounds. Stars, had he dreamt that? Or worse; had the People innocently handed him back to his tormentors? They trusted too easily, Charles had thought, in the past. And the FAC team had years of experience dealing with nervous aliens. Any minute now, Cain or Stryker was going to realise he was awake again, and the door would open, and… Frantically, he looked round the room for a weapon. The only thing Charles could spot was a metal jug, with a lid. Cautiously he hefted it. It seemed heavy enough. 

Charles slipped behind the bed, staring at the door, and waited, tensely. There was a clicking-hissing sound behind him, and he whirled, startled. Another door was opening! This door was harder to spot, and, worse, closer to him. The bed was no barrier to it. A burly, blurry figure moved towards him, stretching a hand out, purposefully. 

Charles reacts immediately. He throws the jug, as hard as he can. The burly man stops, startled. A strange rumbling noise filled the air. While the blurry figure is temporarily stunned, Charles dodges around him swiftly, and ducks out of the room through the open door. And then he _runs._

At least, that’s what he tried to do. What actually happened is the jug lid flipping open, spattering both the burly stranger and Charles with sticky green slime. The stranger stopped laughing, and barked out a startled oath, but was not, unfortunately, stunned. He whirled as Charles dodged, and seized his unbroken arm with a grip like steel. Charles was yanked back with force. The world went dim and shivery around him with pain. His knees wobbled. As he tugged on his arm, trying to free it from a grasp that felt like a tractor beam, he looked at the hand gripping him. It was broad. It was hairy. No, not hairy, furred. Stubby fingers, claws retracted. Not human. One of the People. He’s with the People.

The relief was so great, his vision blurred out, too, and he sagged into his captor’s restraint. There was a minor upheaval, and when his breath and sight came back, Charles found he’d been dropped- gently- back on the bed. He blinked, and the brindled man blinked back at him, slime splashed face open in what Charles hoped was a friendly grin with far too many teeth. 

And now his panic was over, he was able to sense the other’s mind, too. A flash of irritation at the sliming was smothered by genial amusement. Charles sighed in relief. He’s not angry, and Charles’ telepathy is back. The drugs must have worn off.   
“I- Um, sorry.”  
“S’alright, bub. No harm done.” The stranger grabbed a cloth draped over the end of the bed, and wiped his face. His ears flicked, sending droplets of the slime flying. “I’m guessing you woke up a mite puzzled.”  
“Sorry. I- my mind, I couldn’t hear. Didn’t know where I was.”  
“Oooh. Telepath. _Yeah._ ” The stranger grimaced in sympathy. “You’re in a Shielded room. For sick telepaths. And their friends.” He grinned. He paced easily along the wall, and found a machine there. Punched in an order and brought out a replacement jug, which he dropped on the table by the bed. 

Charles blinked. _That’s technology._ That was more technology than he had ever seen one of the People use in front of him before. And the airlock door…  
“This is a ship.” He said, startled. “A space ship.”  
“Yup.” The other admitted, calmly. “My name’s Logan. If you were wondering.”  
“That was a…” He trailed off, staring at the jug. Logan quirked an ear, curious. Charles tries again. “You’re advanced.”  
“Why, thank you.” Logan murmured. He appeared to be enjoying Charles’ befuddlement. He moved to sit down on the chair by the bed, sweeping his tail neatly around his leg.  
“No, I mean… I mean the People. You’re technologically advanced.” Charles tried to smother a giggle. Logan looked puzzled.“You’re _very_ advanced.” 

Charles could see all kinds of technology now he was looking for it. Monitors. Computers. Medical equipment. The sort that comes from a space faring, high tech using civilisation. He’d assumed- the FAC team had assumed- the People were low tech primitives, because they’d turned up on an obscure planet and hadn’t carried blasters or used ‘thopters. How funny. How very, very funny. Logan was looking at him with concern, now. Charles tried to explain, even as he was unable to stifle his laughter.  
“It’s just… we thought you were, um, not advanced.” Logan snorted. “They wanted to know your weaknesses.“He didn’t explain who _they_ are. Logan nodded. “How many spears, did you use projectiles? They kept asking.” He choked back another laugh. It sounded a little shrill.

“And… and, for all I knew you probably have better blasters than they do.” Charles waved an airy hand. “Could have stopped them cold without breaking a sweat.” Logan blinked in sudden comprehension. Charles laughed again. He dropped his face into his hands, still laughing. His eyes watered. Breathing seemed harder.  
Suddenly, he wasn’t laughing at all. Charles curled into himself, and tried to stop shaking. The memory rose from the pit, demanding and hateful. His stomach twisted. He willed himself to not remember it, the buzz-zapp of Stryker’s nerve device, or the thud and pound of Cain’s fists and feet. He won’t remember any of it.

“Hey. Hey there.” A hand clumsily patted him, carefully avoiding his burns. Charles turned his head towards Logan almost blindly. Logan looked at him, gaze steady and dark. He didn’t stop touching Charles.  
“Sorry. I seem to be a little… hysterical.” Charles said, awkwardly, as the tears trailed off. He gulped in a huge breath, and then let it out again. His ribs twinged, painfully.   
“S’alright. Lotsa people get a bit…” Logan waved a hand, vaguely “After a bad time.” He stopped patting Charles.  
“Bad time? I suppose it was.” Charles tried to smile. It proved oddly difficult. 

“I was on the Patrol that brought you in, bub; I know you had a bad time. Someone worked you over real good.” Logan said, quietly. Charles shuddered, and wiped a hand over his face. His head hurt.  
“That’s what they wanted, huh?” Logan’s eyes were sharp, and old. Charles looked away. Questions were dangerous, now.  
“What?” He said, cautiously. Answers were worse.  
“To know about the People?” Logan persisted, his steady gaze still fixed on Charles.  
“Yes.” His throat ached. He swallowed, dryly.  
“They’re all human, right? The others in your house- on your team, I mean.” 

Charles nodded.   
“Why didn’t ya give ‘em what they wanted?” Logan said, bluntly.  
“I didn’t know, I thought you didn’t have any weapons or-“ Logan wafted aside his waffling with a gesture of his tail.  
“But you din’t tell them what you did think you knew, did ya?”   
“Of course not.” Charles sounded indignant even to his own ears.   
“Why?” Logan grinned, ferally.  
“They would have used it to try and hurt you all. It would have been wrong.” God, he sounded so pompous. 

“Try to hurt us?” Logan sounds incredulous, and _yes,_ given their technological backgrounds, it does sound ridiculous _now,_ but. It’s what Kurt had intended. What Charles had felt he had to stop.  
“The surveys said this planet has a lot of metal ores that Kurt’s company needs. As far as my stepfather was concerned, you’re just a bunch of primitive aliens getting in his way. He was going to try and commit genocide- kill you all.”

“What does that word mean?”  
“Genocide?”  
“No, ‘stepfather’. I understand phrases like “kill you all.” I don’t always get non-People words for people, is all.”   
“He married – bonded with- my mother- the parent who gave birth to me- after my other parent died.” Charles explained. “I was still young at the time.” Logan looked aside, awkwardly. His tail twitched, against his leg.  
“And he helped do that to you?” Logan sounded… upset? Furious? Charles didn’t think Logan was angry with him, but it was hard to tell. Angry was angry.  
“Yes.” He said, flatly.

“Stars.” Logan’s ears flattened against the sides of his skull. His claws extended and retracted, restlessly. At least Logan sounded appalled, rather than disbelieving. Charles struggled not to cringe.  
“Well, some of it was my step brother. At Logan’s enquiring glance, he clarified again “His son, by another woman. “And Commander Stryker.” Charles shivered. Logan shot a sharp glance at him, then reached for a cup, and poured some of the green slimy stuff into it. It swirled, gloopily.  
“Huh. Sorry.” And he does look sympathetic.  
“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything except help me, after all.”  
“Not about that. Well, mostly. About this.” 

He held the cup out to Charles, hopefully. Puzzled, Charles took it.   
“Master Medic Frost said to make sure you drank this.” Logan rumbled. Charles felt a brief stab of worry as he stared at the cup of nameless slime. Should he risk it? Logan clicked his tongue, and Charles realised that, weak and hurt as he was, he probably didn’t really have a choice.  
Obediently, Charles took a gulp, and then screwed up his mouth in shock. Logan laughed at the faces Charles pulled. Charles dismissed the thought that Logan was just playing a trick on him.  
“My _god_ , that is vile.” It tasted like grass flavoured sour porridge. Or worse.  
“Yup. But it’s good for what ails ya. Painkillers an’ everything. So, drink up!” 

“Ugh. Yuck.” Somehow, he managed the whole cup… only to be horrified when Logan calmly filled it up again. The texture, the taste- it was worse than Raven’s cooking. Worse than Tony’s first cocktails. He stared at the newly filled cup, and tried to nerve himself for the second tasting. Logan patted him on the shoulder.  
“Ya don’t have to drink it all at once, don’t worry.” Logan offered him water, to wash out the taste.  
“Well, thank goodness for that.” Charles breathed. The pain began to ease away.  
“S’why I thought you throwing it at me was funny. Thought you might have tasted it, ‘till you tried to run out the door.” Logan raised a shoulder in a shrug.  
“I _am_ sorry for that.” Charles felt ashamed of his panicky reaction, and for covering Logan in slime. He was lucky Logan had a sense of humour.

“Yeah, you said.” Logan waved him off, tail twitching. “S’alright, bub.” “Misunderstanding, that’s all. Stop saying sorry ‘bout it.”  
“Sor- I mean, I will.” Charles managed to avoid saying the forbidden word, just in time. Logan looked amused. He tried to find a comfortable spot to lie down, that enabled him to see Logan’s face. Sitting up was starting to hurt.  
Logan reached for a device and prodded it. Charles tensed, wary. Nothing hurt.  
The bed moved, in sections. Logan eyed him again. “Good?”  
“Yes, thank you.” Charles curled up in it cosily, sighing in relief as being able to lie mostly flat again.   
“Sick bay beds are the best”, said Logan, happily. “Not that I stay in ‘em often.”

There was a brief, awkward pause. Then Logan said, as if struck by a sudden thought “Hey. Do humans have serial vids?” He looked a little embarrassed. “Stories? Acted out?”  
“Oh, yes! Some of them are called soap operas. Or soaps. No one knows why.” And please let Logan accept that.  
“Good. I know a good one to get you started on, if you’re done talking for now. It’s about the forming of some of the great clans.” And Logan reached under the bed and flicked out a screen. He pressed a few buttons, cursed and settled back satisfied when an image came up. 

One of the female People on screen is tearfully telling her sister? Cousin? That she must leave. The other is reminding her of her duty. Charles stared, entranced. The sister is waving her arms and singing when a male enters. He could learn so much from this. History, gender roles, social mannerisms… the list is endless. Charles felt his battered psyche relax, like a cat in the sun. He was not alone, and the person he was with didn’t want to hurt him. He wasn’t hungry, wasn’t uncomfortable, wasn’t even in much pain. The warm purr of Logan’s mind, brightening to a snarl or a laugh as the onscreen action dictated, was an additional comfort he had to fight not to cling to, like a child with a security blanket.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More medical treatments and hurt comfort, plus bonus trauma and flashbacks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so mean to Charles. I should be ashamed.

Two vids or so later, Charles hadn’t quite fallen asleep. Logan had dialled down the sound on the screen. Charles was just resting his eyes when the airlock door hissed open. Charles considered opening his eyes, but he might have to drink more vile slime. He didn’t hurt quite badly enough for that. He waited.  
“Has he woken?” That mind, that voice were familiar to Charles- who was it?  
“Yeah. Kinda confused at first, tried to run out on me, but he calmed down quick.” Logan rumbled back, quietly.  
“Oh?” And with the calmly amused tone, Charles was able to place her. Frost! The Master Medic. She had helped him before. He relaxed a little.   
“Calmed down when he saw me, anyway.” Logan seemed pleased as he continued.

“Didn’t know where he was. He was out flat when my guys brought him into the Quarters; an’ he didn’t know about our tech level.” Logan snorted, briefly amused.  
Charles was obscurely pleased Logan doesn’t mention the slime drink he hurled at him. It was a silly plan of escape, anyway. Where did he have to run to?  
“Ah. I have some questions.” Charles shivered, and opened his eyes. Questions were best got over with quickly. Sitting up proved difficult until Logan hauled him upright with one hand. Charles smiled his thanks.  
“Frost.” Logan’s voice dropped lower. “The people who almost killed him? The humans. They wanted tactical info on us. He wouldn’t give it.”

“Is that so, Charles Xavier?” The Medic turned to a cupboard and extracted a device. Eyeing it, Charles nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it. Possibly ever. But he knew they needed whatever he could tell them. They needed to be ready for whatever Stryker and Kurt whipped up between them.  
“Then I suppose I shall have to ask for verification nicely.” She smiled. “I apologise, but you must understand we cannot rely on your words alone.” She put down the device. Charles nodded again. “May I enter your mind?”  
“Yes.” His voice was husky. He felt her mind press lightly against his, testing the truthfulness of his response. It didn’t hurt. The Master Medic sent another breath of enquiry. Charles lowered his mental shields enough for her to skim his mind in reply. Softly, she placed her fingers on his temples and began to shuffle through his recent memories delicately.   
Charles swallowed. 

He felt his hands clench into fists as the memories flashed past. He remembered overhearing the argument. Fear. The shock of Stryker’s betrayal. The different flavours of pain: dull and aching from Cain’s fists; the gnawing of hunger and thirst; the raw burning shriek of the nerve-stim. The silent terror that came from feeling his _will-to-silence_ eroding under the pressure of more and more pain, and his grim struggle to hold on to resistance. The jolting landing that broke his arm, when Cain kicked his semi conscious body from the ‘thopter. The taste of blood and sand in his mouth. The long burning day in the desert. Despair. 

A drop of sweat slid down Charles’ forehead. He was not sure when he had screwed his eyes shut. Distantly, he felt someone fumbling with his hands. Logan, trying to unclench his fingers. Gently, Frost retreated from his mind, slowly enough to ease him back into the present. Charles took a deep, shuddering breath. His heart was racing.  
“Hey. Hey! You’ll hurt yourself.” Logan muttered. He shot a glare at the Master Medic, who returned the look unapologetically. Stiffly, Charles opened his hands under Logan’s urging. His fingernails had bitten deep. Seeing the bloody crescents in Charles’ palms, Logan hissed.   
“You… sought to protect the People.” Frost’s tone was strange. “At some considerable cost to yourself.” Her voice became firmer “We owe you much.” Charles glanced down at his blanket covered knees. He felt cold and drained.  
“It wasn’t much.” He wasn’t being self effacing, it wasn’t much. There were less than two hundred humans on the planet, and the tech advantage they thought they had turned out to be non existent. The People do not need protecting, Charles reflected. They can protect themselves. As ever, he’d been a fool.

The small blinking device in Frost’s hands was worrying. It was about the length of his hand, and metallic in appearance. It looked like the nerve-stimmer Kurt and Stryker used on him. Charles felt his spine press against the wall, and winced, as he unconsciously tried to shift up the bed away from the scary tech. Logan’s eyes narrowed at his reaction, thoughtfully. Frost said, patiently.  
“This is a medical scanner, Charles Xavier. Please relax. I can’t get a satisfactory read on your pulse or blood pressure.” Charles rubbed a thumb over the burn on his wrist, anxiously. _Relax_. It was hard, after the not-quite flashback of a telepathic scan. He tried to be calm. It will bring pain. His memories were insistent.

 _-This is not a torture device-_. The Master Medic’s mental voice was clear and definite. Logan drew a quiet breath as if to speak, paused, glanced at Charles, and then said, quietly:  
“Take it easy, bub.” Charles glanced at him, smiling weakly, before continuing to stare at the machine warily. It beeped. Charles twitched, reflexively. Nothing happened. It will bring pain. 

Charles flushed. Shame rose in him, but he couldn’t deny the fear was still there. It will bring pain. Even here, even with the People, who had never hurt him as humans had, Charles was afraid. Afraid of what others might do to him, like a child fearing a beating. Afraid of what they might think of him. Charles was tired of feeling pain, and betrayal, and despair. He knew his fears were embarrassing, cowardly, perhaps, looked at in the calm light of day. Logan sighed. Charles looked up, surprised out of his self recrimination, to see Logan and Frost staring silently at each other. He caught the faint buzz of rapid mental talk, and wondered what they were saying about him.

“How about you get some food into you? All those n- food’s energy, isn’t it?” Logan said, stuttering slightly. Charles blinked at the change in subject, and nodded. Frost turned to the same machine Logan had earlier used and typed in another command.  
“This will not taste like the fortifying drink you took earlier.” She said, reassuringly.  
“How did you know I didn’t like it?” Charles fretted at his lip. He didn’t think he’d broadcast his dislike that badly.  
“My dear, no civilised sentient likes _neem_. But it’s good for you.” Frost said, crisply. She picked up the bowl from the dispenser. A waft of fragrant steam rose up. Charles swallowed. He was hungry, but… A nagging thread of anxiety tugged at him.

“At least that’s what all the medics say. I think they like the effect, myself. Got any soup for me?” Logan said, cheerfully.  
“Logan. _You_ don’t need-“ Frost began, before she was interrupted.  
“Ah well. Guess I’ll just have some of his.” And Logan deliberately scooped up a spoonful of the bowl on its way to Charles. “Mm. Tasty.”  
Charles felt a sudden release of tension. The soup was safe. If Logan was willing to eat it, the soup was fine. Logan and Frost exchanged more glances over his head. Charles decided he hadn’t seen them, concentrating on the warm comfort of his soup. He tried to ignore the shame he felt. He had been afraid of _soup._

 _–No one will hurt you here, Charles Xavier-_ The medic’s mental voice was very gentle, but it carried echoes of adamant and iron. He wished he could believe it.   
_-You will-_ She insisted, gently.   
_-How? -_ He didn’t mean to sound so plaintive, like a child begging for comfort.  
 _-We will show you-_  
Logan’s grip tightened reassuringly on his shoulder.

\-------------------------------------

After the injured human had been soothed into sleep- Logan suspected the gentle hand of Frost’s telepathy at work- he looked at the Master Medic.  
“What you’re going to do?” he asked.  
“Mend him,” she said crisply “Body and, if possible, spirit.”  
“Huh. An’ after that?” Frost raised an ear, pointedly. Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just saying… Boy’s gotta good heart. He’s smart, a telepath and tough. We’ve adopted worse before.”

“You’re already thinking about adoption claims?” Frost asked, neutrally.  
“Not just me. Reckon he made a bit of hit with the patrol, too.” Charles made a small, snuffling noise, and shifted deeper into his bedding. Logan sighed. He reached out a hand, but stopped before he could touch the human’s head and risk waking him.  
“It’s not as simple as that. We’re now into a siege situation at worst, and quarantine at best.” Logan nodded, ruefully sympathetic.  
“We’re still keeping everyone to Quarters?”  
“Apart from secure patrols, yes. This-“ She waved her tail in a wide arc, indicating Charles, the ship, the whole situation .

“This shows we have a much poorer understanding of human psychology than we realised.” Frost said thoughtfully. “The capacity for greed and violence is-”  
“Not sure you can guess at the nature of a species from dregs like his kin.” Logan grumbled.  
“True, but we don’t fully know or understand their wider social structures either.”  
“Charles’l be able to fill us in a bit surely?”  
“It depends on what he understands, what he is able to communicate and how far he’s able to trust. One or two people can only give a very incomplete understanding of a species.” The master medic said, calmly.  
“You saying he don’t trust us? We _rescued_ him!” Logan protested. Frost gestured at him to lower his voice as Charles stirred, restlessly.

“Yes, but firstly we rescued him from his own family, his own people. He may still have obligations, commitments we don’t understand.” Logan snorted in protest. “And secondly, even if he does not, he grew up with them. His capacity for trust, for… He must have been damaged by this betrayal, these injuries. You know that, Logan. He tried to run, you said?”  
“Yeah, but-“ Logan broke off, thinking. “Look. He woke up alone, and hurt. He couldn’t hear anyone through the shielding, and he panicked.” Logan glanced at him, and said, more quietly “It’s not like he didn’t have reason not to.” She nodded. “He was ashamed; not angry, after.”

“I’m not disputing that. I am simply saying it is too early to talk of adoption or trust until we know what his capacities for giving and receiving affection and trust actually are.” Charles shifted again, and mumbled something too soft to catch. “That’s where you come in, Logan.”  
“Me?” He gave her a mock innocent look.  
“He needs a friend. Several, in fact, but you already know what happened; and your security clearances are high enough to keep you in the loop.” Logan smirked.  
“Yeah, but I’m security, not medical.”  
“You are honest, a friendly face who helped him before, and,” Her voice grew amused. “Logan, your reputation for … ah, directness precedes you everywhere.”

He nodded, tightly. Frost continued  
“I don’t think he needs another nurse, I think he needs someone who likes him.”  
“Who watches vids with him? Logan asked, sarcastically.  
“If need be.” The Master Medic returned, unruffled.  
“I ain’t a spy.” Logan snapped, quietly. Frost sighed.  
“I’m not asking you to lie to him. But he needs much more than just a physical patch up.” They both glanced at the sleeping human. “You can help with that.” Logan nodded. 

“This better put me an’ mine first in line when we get to talking about adoptions.” Logan grumbled, before he bent over Charles. The human had begun to whimper and twitch, restlessly, in his sleep.  
"Pain in his sleep? Bad dreams?” Forst's fingers hovered over the drug dispenser.  
“Nightmare." Logan said, curtly. "Think so. Ain’t surprising.” He touched Charles’ shoulder. “Come on, bub, you’re dreaming.” The human’s unhappy mutterings trailed off as Logan began combing fingers through his hair, soothingly. “Just a dream, that’s all.” He tugged the blanket back over Charles’s shoulders gently. “Hey, he’s still cold. Got another blanket anywhere?” Wordlessly, she pointed. Logan strode to the wall storage.

Frost slipped out, leaving Charles to Logan and the medtechs to monitor, and began composing her notes. Charles Xavier was recovering from his physical wounds quite well; his nanite colonies were responding to the supplements he’d been fed and were busy with repairs on his battered body. The nanites would be making severe demands on Charles’s bodily resources, though. As long as the medics kept putting more into the human’s system than the nanites were taking out; in terms of energy, proteins and minerals, there should be no major complications. His mental state was another matter. 

Charles Xavier had been assaulted, brutally, by his own relations. Any member of the People who had suffered so would be completely shattered by it. Yet the human seemed, not fine, but certainly coherent and lucid. Frost was privately amazed at the mental resilience this indicated humans were capable of. Resilience or insensitivity? Or denial? It was hard to evaluate an alien psychology, especially under such circumstances. Perhaps it was merely a façade. Logan would help to build Xavier’s capacity for friendship, for trust back up; and if Logan deemed it safe, Jeannis would be a willing assistant.

Well, Logan would help there. His observations were keen, his judgement respected; and if Charles Xavier was unable to perceive the protective heart that lurked under his prickly exterior, she, Frost, was a veeble’s aunt. And Jeannis was a fellow telepath, and a child, offering a child’s open friendship, asking nothing, offering only simple affection.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean returns to visit his patient. The Humans plot, and Jeannis comes up with a _perfectly reasonable_ solution. Honestly.

It was still early. There was only one monitor on duty in the ward observation unit. Sean slipped in quietly, holding a bundle of specially made ship greys. Charles Xavier had little or no fur, so it stood to reason he was likely cold, in Quarters, where the temperature was adjusted to the People’s comfort automatically. The ship greys would keep him warm. The sleeping human was visible on the vid feed. 

Charles was dreaming. Sean could tell, from the restless flicker of his eyelids and the shifting about, that the dream was likely not a good one. Again. He glanced at the tech monitor, who was following the reports on half a dozen patients’ vitals and said  
“I’m gonna go in and wake him.” The tech raised an ear in enquiry. “I got some stuff for him, I’ve got clearance-”  
“Only because you were on the patrol that brought him in.” Sean glared; the technician waved an apologetic hand. “You better take a blocker; he was hallucinating earlier, and apparently he’s some kind of telepath.” 

Sean nodded, curtly, and slipped the blocker over his head.   
“I don’t know why we’re restricting knowledge and access; who’s going to want to see him? He’s got no connections to us.” The med tech mused as Sean adjusted the blocker’s fit. Sean made no comment, but his tail twitched, quietly. The med tech paused and added, irritably: “I don’t even know why we’re treating him.”  
“You do know it was the _other humans_ who did that to him don’t you? On _purpose._ ” Sean grated out. 

“Charles Xavier thought he was protecting us. Even without connections to the People.” He wanted to say more, but he knew he couldn’t. Still, it looked like it was enough: the tech’s ears cocked back respectfully, and he nodded Sean and his bundle through without further comment. Good.

 

_Charles is walking through endless corridors. He knows he must not run. At first, as he walks, the corridors seem to become taller, and wider. Then Charles looks at his feet, clad in grubby sneakers, and realises: He is getting smaller. Younger. Weaker. Someone yells “Boy! Come here!” He chokes back a child’s whimpers. There is no escape._

A steady calm voice speaks:  
“Charles Xavier.” _Charles is cold and lost and alone. He moans, fearfully._  
“Charles Xavier.” _That voice again. Charles claps his hands to his ears. It doesn’t help. He would scream, if he could._

“Charles!” Something touches his foot, and he strikes out, blindly, before he realises he’s not dreaming anymore

Sean dodged the human’s sleep-startled flailing and waited for him to wake properly. He winced, mentally, at the purple and yellow marks on Xavier’s face. “Is your face going to stay that colour?” Sean heard himself ask, stupidly. Charles looked at him bewilderedly. Hurriedly, Sean snatched the blocker off. It was bad manners to wear one around a telepath unasked, unless either you or the telepath couldn’t control yourself decently. Charles Xavier looked indefinably relieved about something. Sean wondered if it was the dream or the blocker he was happier about.

Reflexively, Charles lifted a hand to his face and winced as he pressed his fingers to the aging bruise.  
“I, ah, no, it won’t stay like that. This is just bruising, it’ll fade.” Charles said, quietly. He was so glad to have been woken from that particular dream. He was also glad he didn’t hurt Sean. Sometimes waking a telepath was dangerous, but it seemed Sean had sensibly taken precautions.  
“Sorry about that. Didn’t want to startle you, when I woke you up. How are you feeling?” Sean babbled, slightly embarrassed about being caught wearing a blocker. He handed Charles a cup of water. 

“Better, thank you.” Charles smiled widely and drank the water gratefully. “Why would you think this” he gestured to the bruising “wouldn’t fade?” The medic was pleased to note that he could open both his eyes now. They were still a bright, kitten blue.  
“Oh, sloppy thinking, I guess.” Sean greeted the change of subject with relief.” All kitten fur’s the same colour at birth, and it doesn’t change to markings till we get older. I forgot human skin shows- and changes- much more than that.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. Especially mine.” Charles said, ruefully.  
“Oh?” said Sean, curiously. He remembered his duties and asked, quickly “Are you comfortable with me changing your dressings?” Charles blinked, and nodded.  
”Human blood circulation changes with our moods. Pale skin shows it more. And burns more easily, sadly.” He sat on the edge of the bed, and braced himself.  
“Burns?” Sean began unwinding the bandages on Charles’ wrists, where the zip ties had cut deeply. Charles breathed out, slowly.  
“From the sun-I was practically living in my enviro gear before- the sun back on that planet is strong enough to leave me red as anything” Idly, Charles wondered where in space they were.

“We’re still there you know.” Sean felt Charles’ pulse jump under his fingers at his comment.  
“What?” He stared at his fingers as Sean covered his cuts with more ointment and began re-wrapping them. Sean glanced at him, curiously.   
“We’re still on Sand- that’s what we called the planet, you know?”  
“But I thought this is your space ship?” Charles said, bewildered. “Are we not in space?”  
“You’d likely hear the engines if we were in space. But yeah, this is Clan Iron Flame’s ship you’re on.”

“What is a spaceship doing marooned on a desert planet of no importance?” Charles asked, puzzled.   
“Repairs, mostly.” Sean began anointing the burns on Charles’s arms and chest as he answered. They were numerous, and his lips tightened as he dabbed and smoothed the cream on, taking care not to press too hard.  
“Repairs? Oh.”   
“Yeah. There’s rules about First Contact with other species; and well, we couldn’t quite follow ‘em but the Ship Master’s pretty firm about keeping to them as much as possible.” 

“Ah.” Charles said, neutrally. He though it was probably best to leave that there. Sean continued to smear cream on the burns dotting his legs.   
“Anyway,” Sean’s turned more cheerful “I bought you some stuff.” He grinned. “Now that you’re not fleeing flying cutlery.”  
“I’m sorry.” Charles said, sheepishly. At least his hallucinations had been funny rather than dangerous. And at least he’d been in a shielded room, so his projections of fear and bewilderment had not affected anyone else.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Logan shoulda’ checked you could eat salted narth peas safely.” Sean said, firmly.   
“They were only spoons.” Charles said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know why.”  
“Full of neem, right?” Sean gave him a shrewd glance.  
“No, all kinds of food, and they wouldn’t stop trying to get me to swallow them.” Sean shrugged. Sick people could get up to all kinds of crazy stuff. And at least the spoons had not turned Charles violent. He’d ended up huddled under the bed.

“Anyway. I got to thinking, the temp here’s set for us fur wearers, and you don’t have any. So I got Stores to dig though and… here.” A soft bundle landed in Charles’ lap.   
“Let me get your feet done and I’ll help you try ‘em on for size.” The bundle was made up of a pair of trousers and a tunic top. They were the same deep grey of the People’s ship suits, but made from some thicker and softer cloth. Charles didn’t know what to say. Clothes made for him. He felt warmed by the consideration they showed.  
“They feel lovely. Thank you.” 

Sean unwrapped the dressings on Xavier’s left foot and ankle. Human feet were weird, he thought. Unlike his own, Charles’ stubby little toes were level with the rest of the foot, and his ankle was quite short and thick. No claws, either. No wonder humans stumped about so heavily.  
“Let’s try the top first.” Sean carefully pulled the sleeve over the cast on Xavier’s left arm, and tried to keep the fabric from chafing as Charles struggled with the other arm and the neck hole. The tops were slightly too broad across the shoulders, but fitted well enough. Sean knelt again and helped Xavier get the trousers up comfortably over the shorts he’d been wearing. He was able to figure out the fastenings for himself, so Sean let them be.

“Warmer?”  
“Oh yes, much, thank you.” The trousers were a little long, but Charles found he liked that, compared to bare feet. Now he might be able to get out of bed and sit up, from time to time. Charles wriggled his toes, happily.  
“Do that again?” Curious, Charles obliged. Sean stated intently, before prodding his toes gently. “Huh.”  
“What?” Charles said, a little anxiously.  
“No claws. Even on your feet. Thought you might have retracted them. And your feet are soft.” He prodded the feet again, but stopped when Charles twitched, awkwardly.  
“Yes, humans usually wear socks and shoes, for protection these days.”  
“Socks?”  
“Soft cloth covering.”  
“Huh.” 

\---------------------------

Cain drummed his fingers on the table. Stryker glanced at him, coldly and he stopped.  
“Well this is going to go well. How are we gonna tell them we’re missing a translator… without a translator?” Kurt grumped.  
“Please, Mr Marko. We’ll have to fall back on what FAC usually uses for first contact. A computer translator. It’s a little bulky, and a lot awkward, but we can manage.” Stryker soothed him.

“I don’t see why we have to have this meeting at all; we know-“ Cain began  
“Close your mouth.” Kurt hissed at him.  
“But we don’t-“ Cain protested  
“Plausibility!” snapped Stryker.  
“Right. Still gets us stuck here waiting for some damn cats. Again.”

“They’ve been awfully hard to track down, this past week. The above ground settlement’s been deserted.” Stryker mused  
“Possibly it’s a ritual; or a taboo thing, sir?” said the tech who was still on his knees struggling with the transpute  
“Well, it makes my- our jobs harder. We can’t” he licked his lips nervously and continued- “we can’t get it started if they’re all in church!”

“Not when we don’t know where that church is, anyway.” Stryker agreed, smoothly. “In any case, here they are.” Stryker smiled at the assembled pussy cats entering. He thought they were the same as the last meeting; and the one before that, and the one before that… Didn’t anyone new get to greet the humans? He nodded a curt dismissal at the tech, who left, obediently.

“Greetings” Chirruped the littlest one, brightly. Kurt twitched. Cain tried not to roll his eyes. The three human men nodded at her, vaguely. Stryker wished the People would stop bringing kids to their meetings; it wasted time, and it was hardly a sign their “Hosts” recognised the power and influence of the human “guests.”

Cain sat and tried to hide the fact that he was sulking from the others. He was bored. It took everyone at least half an hour to get the hellos over and done with. Kurt had sneered at him, when he’d complained to his father that given a free hand with Charles, he could have broken him in a little more time.

“The brat was spineless and stupid most of the time, but he was more useful than you are!” At least he did what he was told, most of the time. You nearly cost us a ‘thopter.” He’d snapped, and there’d been a glint in his father’s eye, as he looked at the repair bill, that Cain had not liked one bit. He swallowed. Dear old Dad had better realised he needed Cain around, or he might find himself… encouraged to retire, one of these days.

Cain shifted again, and realised they had moved on to the subject of the Great and Missing Charles. He tried to look suitably concerned, which proved tricky, given his last memory of Charles had been the happy one of kicking his stepbrother’s mumbling and battered body out of the ‘thopter. The little kitty cat, the one who Charles always spoke to, stared at him. He smiled at her, but got no smile in return, only an inscrutable golden-eyed stare.

Kurt wanted to swear, or start hitting someone. The People didn’t respond to his pleas to search for Charles, or his threats (about what would happen if they didn’t let him know if they found Charles.) or his insinuations that they’d had something to do with Charles being missing. They just asked stupid questions about when Charles was last seen, what he’d been wearing, and so on. Where did the old one, Grey, or whatever his name was, get off, asking Kurt questions like that? They weren’t law enforcement officers, not by a long stretch.

It hadn’t helped that Cain and Stryker had both given completely different information on a couple of points. The cats hadn’t pointed it out- hell, with the uselessness of the transpute, they might not have noticed, but still. Kurt cursed to himself. He hated working with non businessmen like the FACers. And Cain was still more useless than any son of his should be. He’d have to make arrangements about that, if the boy didn’t learn quickly enough.

-

“Well.” Grey observed, mildly, as the humans made their insulting and abrupt exit. “That was quite possibly a waste of time.” He put his arm around Jeannis, who was shivering.  
“Only possibly?” Angel said, and hissed her irritation. “They all but said straight out we had something to do with Charles Xavier’s disappearance.”  
“But we do!” Jeannis grinned, weakly. “They’re going to let me see him tomorrow!” Grey sighed. Angel gave the little telepath a quick smile.

“Yes, but they are not saying that we’re looking after him; they’re saying we’re the ones who have hurt him.” Jeannis’ face twitched, and her tail stood out straight behind her.  
“Sharles is hurt?” Her voice had risen in pitch. “What-“ Her claws extended.  
“Jeannis!” Grey said, sharply. “Control yourself, Speaker!” Jeannis jumped, and began a mid calming exercise. Angel stared at Grey. Grey looked back.

“S-sorry.” Jeannis said, eventually. “What’s wrong with Sh- with Charles Xavier?”   
“He’s in Sickbay.” Grey said, carefully. “Medic Frost is looking after him.” Angel sat up, sharply. Her ears were quivering with curiosity.  
“Isn’t that in Quarters? I thought we were all no direct contact outside of here-” she gave the meeting hall a contemptuous wave of one claw- “until the Fleet get here, with trained First Contact teams?”

“That’s assuming we actually want to deal with these humans at all.” Grey said. “We’ve had a few brushes with them before-“  
“Yeah, Ship Master’s history is one we all know.” Angel agreed. “But I didn’t think we were going just by that?” Grey agreed with her. Jeannis continued to look worried. He fondness for the human was touching to see.  
“We aren’t. Charles Xavier is in our care because of how he became injured.” Grey said, carefully. 

He had to be careful what he said about the situation, even to his kin. And Jeannis was already upset.  
“We found him in the desert. He asked not to be returned to the humans, because they hurt him. Quite badly.” Grey said, eventually. Angel gasped. Jeannis snarled.  
“I’ll kill them!”

Her claws were out, and the kitten was trembling in wrath. It would have been adorable, if not for the fact that both Grey and Angel could feel the little one’s wrath pulsing through their shielding.  
“Shields, Jeannis!” Angel said, urgently. The heavy, unchildlike anger faded from the room. Both Agel and Grey sagged, a little. Jeannis anger was painful to feel.

Grey smoothed his forehead fur, and then breathed out. All the People were empathic, to some degree. True telepaths were rare. Powerful telepaths, as Jeannis would one day be, were rarer.  
“They are his House, Jeannis. His kin, too.” He said, mildly. “We don’t know what steps Charles Xavier might feel obligated to take, if we did that.”

“He’s right, Jeannis.” Angel soothed. “We think that the humans do understand some concepts of family bonds. And we don’t know what kind of revenge or retribution they would consider adequate, for the non accidental death of family members.” He laid a gentle hand on Jeannis’ own. Jeannis snorted.   
“That’s _easy._ We adopt him. THEN we kill them.” She smiled, cheerful again. “Then we get to keep him, and he doesn’t have to do anything because we hurt his family, because we’ll be his family.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes notes; discovers a fascination the People have with certain aspects of human anatomy and contiues to make friends.

Charles found it hard to tell the passage of time in sickbay, even by his injuries. They were healing so quickly. Perhaps he only seemed healing fast. There was no visible timepiece in his room, and no windows, either. Charles was only able to measure time through sleeping and waking, like a small child. For example, two sleeps ago, the last of his bruises had faded. One sleep ago, his ribs had still been tender. Now they were fine. The burns and cuts had all scabbed over, and the sporadic trembling caused by the nerve-stimmer had also faded. Master Medic Frost had even permitted him to actually get up, occasionally.

He spent so much time sleeping and dozing, though, so it was perfectly possible he could be spending entire days asleep. Frost or one of the other medics came into the room regularly with food, drink or drugs, but Charles never learned to predict who or what would be coming through the door next, or when they were going to arrive. Frost had reassured Charles that he could not be telepathically heard beyond the shielded room, even when broadcasting at full strength. Charles’s history of nightmares had left him relieved about that, given how much worse they had become since he'd been rescued. Yet somehow, despite the shielding, his dreams seemed to attract visitors to his room like ants. He was usually woken within a few minutes of beginning to dream, if the dream was a bad one.

His left arm was in an ingenious cast, and his left hand and wrist were also splinted and fixed. Sean- another odd name- the gingery medic who had helped him in the desert, had brought him a sling, and fiddled with it every time he turned up, apparently trying to reach the perfect balance point between comfort and convenience.  
Mercifully, he was able to stop taking the awful slimy concoction Logan had made him drink. The People’s low level telempathy apparently made them feel his minor outbursts of disgust, when drinking it, which was uncomfortable, except for Logan who found them hilarious.

Logan’s offer of being the one to supply Charles with the drink, called _Neeme_ , were rejected by Frost, who had pointed out that _Neeme_ actually came in solid cubes as well. These had a variety of flavours, and while they weren’t tasty, they weren’t slimy, either. Charles ate and drank whatever was given him, (except by Logan), followed the medical advice he was given (except Logan’s) and generally tried to be a good patient. Quiet, uncomplaining, that sort of thing. This was pretty easy to do when he was asleep more than half the time. It would have been easier if Logan hadn’t kept turning up with yet more vid serials, and snacks.

The vid serials were always interesting, but the snacks were a varied experience. Some were tasty, but many were not, at least to Charles. All were memorable. Especially the little yellow salty things that had tasted delicious but also made Charles hallucinate. Being coaxed out from under his bed by a very patient Frost had been a little embarrassing. Logan had stopped bringing him food then, but he still came and kept Charles company during the rare moments he was awake. Such as now, for eaxmple.

"So, bub, explain this to me: Why do humans have weird feet?”  
“Evolutionary pressure. Or we don’t; the People do. Take your pick.” Charles responded. All the People who had seen them had responded to Charles’ inelegant and stubby feet with a curious fascination that baffled Charles. Logan stared intently at Charles’s bare feet as he sat cross legged on the bed, shuffling the flimsies he’d been writing on.   
“Look at them! Pale and soft and no fur or pads or claws at all!” To illustrate, Logan ran the side of his claws along the sole of Charles’ left foot. Charles made an indescribable noise, and jerked his foot away, involuntarily. Logan stared. 

“What was that?” he asked, incredulously. Then he ran his claws along Charles’ other foot. Charles yelped and nearly fell off the bed.  
“Ticklish! Aren’t any of the People ticklish?” panted Charles, glaring at him.  
“What?” Logan asked, innocently.  
“Nerve endings. Human feet are full of nerve endings, and– Logan, _stop it!_ ” Charles jerked out as he rapidly manoeuvred himself out of Logan’s reach. An evil grin spread over Logan’s furry face, exposing his needle sharp teeth. Charles’ heart sank. Logan looked gleeful, like a child who had just been given access to the toy factory. Charles clamped his arms against his sides protectively and glared. Logan looked innocently at him.

Cautiously Charles dragged himself upright again, and Logan pounced. He seized Charles’s left ankle with one hard hand, pressing both his legs down onto the bed with his furry elbow. Charles felt a stab of panicked terror, which he tried to dismiss rapidly. Logan wasn’t going to hurt him, this was fine, and everything was just-  
And then Logan dropped Charles’s foot onto the bed, and yowled in surprise, and pain. Charles gasped for air frantically. He was reeling.

 _-You leave him ALONE! -_ came the little girl’s mental shout. Logan cursed again. “Jeannis!” Logan yelped, in protest.  
Charles wasn’t sure about what Logan said next, but he was fairly certain it was profoundly profane or obscene. Neither of them had seen Jeannis come in, and now she was biting Logan’s kneecap.  
“J-Jeannis! Jeannis, stop. Please. I’m all right.”  
 _-No one gets to frighten you! No one! -_ Jeannis insisted, telepathically.  
“Get off! You little-” Logan yelled and Jeannis growled through her mouthful of knee cap. 

Charles stared for a second before pulling himself together. This was getting out of hand.  
 _-STOP! -_ Charles said, very firmly.  
Both of them jumped at the telepathic command. Jeannis stared at Charles with wide, worried eyes. Charles smiled faintly at her.  
“Jeannis. Stop biting Logan. _Please._ ” Reluctantly, Jeannis did so. Logan huffed out a breath and pinched his forehead with one hand. Jeannis’ lip trembled, and her eyes welled up. With a wail, she scrambled onto the bed and hugged Charles fiercely. Bemused, but touched, he hugged her back. Over her head he stared at Logan, mutely appealing for help.

Logan was grinning again. Charles sighed and waited for Jeannis to calm down. He patted her back, hopefully soothingly.  
“I’m sorry!” She sobbed into his chest. Charles felt his eyebrows rise.  
“Whatever for?”  
“They said you were hurt. And you are! You’re all... all _blotchy!_ ” Charles winced. The burns were still unpleasantly visible, although Sean had assured him they would fade, if human skin reacted to the People’s burn creams properly.  
“I was hurt, yes. I’m getting better.” Charles said, reassuringly. Jeannis shook her head, still sniffling.

“I shouldn’t have given you the nannies. You got in trouble.”  
“Nannies?” Charles briefly thought of a row of Mary Poppins like creatures, and felt thoroughly bemused. Logan sucked in a breath.  
“In the drink. The special one. I wanted to cheer you up and you got hurt.” She was still upset. Charles took a deep breath, and thought of Raven, when she had been Jeannis’ age. Not that long ago, really.  
“Jeannis. Dear one. You didn’t mean me to be hurt, did you?”

“N-no.” she said, hopefully.  
“And you didn’t get me in trouble; this… this happened for other reasons.” He cleared his throat.  
“ Now. You should say you’re sorry to Logan for biting him. Biting a person is not nice, Jeannis.” Charles tried to look disapproving when he said that. He felt it was only a partial success until Logan said:  
“ Well. ‘Less you’re asked nicely to.”  
“Logan!” Charles sputtered. “That is _not_ helpful.” Logan grinned. Jeannis’ ears drooped.  
“I’m sorry, Logan. I thought you were hurting Charles.”

“Well, Jeannis, I’ll tell ya something that might make you feel better. That drink you gave Charles? Ifen you hadn’t, he’d have died when he did get hurt.”  
“Really?” Now Jeannis looked happier, hopeful that the human she was so fond of hadn’t come to grief because of her.   
“Yeah. Probably.” Logan said, quietly.

Charles swallowed. A wave of nausea rolled greasily through him. He didn’t like to think about dying. Logan flicked him a sharp glance and continued; voice a little gentler. “Now. We’re watching The Tale of Ea and Eyre. Want to help me teach Charles? He keeps askin’ all these questions.” The little girl nodded.  
“What questions?” Logan set up the screen. The Tale began playing. Charles hastily thought of a few questions Logan had not answered, and grabbed for his flimsies again, uncapping the pen with his teeth. Jeannis blinked at him.

“Why is this person always wearing green?”  
“That’s Ea! Green’s her ship clan colour.”  
“Ah. Thanks.” Carefully, Charles made a note on his flimsy. His memory was not what it had been.  
“And that building?”  
“That’s Clanhome! It’s, it’s sacred to her clan, and they started there and-“ The Tale went on. Charles made more notes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven frets. Tony takes steps, and Charles continues to recover and learn.

Raven chewed her fingernails, and stared out of the window at Prime City’s night lights. At first, between the excitement of moving into Pepper’s apartment and the demands of her exams had distracted her; but now she had grown used to one and survived the other, she was able to worry about her brother again. Cain had swept him off to some remote dustball; where there was no one but Marko Industry shills and some fuzzy aliens. Charles was never good at looking after himself; too busy looking after everyone else instead, and it was unlikely her probable dad would be much use in that direction.

Kurt Marko was her probable dad. Sharon had definitely given birth to both Charles and Raven. She been eight when she’d realised that Sharon’s careless ways, fondness for drink and poor counting abilities meant that it was quite possible Kurt was her stepfather as well as Charles’, no matter what her birth certificates said. She’d never brought it up; partly because Charles seemed to like thinking of her as an innocent child, and partly because it was pretty much irrelevant once Sharon died and Charles was able to take her with him to freedom, otherwise known as college.

Raven had been younger then, she hadn’t realised what burden she must have been to the seventeen year old Charles; a ten year old sister to care for just at a time when he might have wanted to stretch his wings and make friends. He had never let her know if he’d ever resented taking her with him. Raven didn’t want to be a burden, not like Sharon- Mom had been to both of them. And she was terribly afraid that that was what she was, to Charles. Not resented, not regretted, but burdensome nevertheless.

She was definitely one of his major weak spots. Raven doubted Charles would have agreed to being hauled off to act as Telepath-Diplomat in one of Kurt’s crazy mining colonies unless he’d been threatened, and there wasn’t much Kurt could threaten Charles with that would have an effect, apart from his friends, and her.  
“Jarvissiomo, lights!” a cheerful voice crowed behind her, and the overhead lights snapped on. Automatically, Raven flickered into her blonde self, before seeing who had come in, and relaxing back into blue. Tony tilted his head and stared at her, curiously.  
“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” Raven tried for a believable smile.  
“Just thinking, Uncle Tony.” Charles had taught her to call him that when Tony was 14, and she was still very small. It had horrified him for years. Now it just made him laugh.

“Thinking and fretting.” Tony Stark said, reprovingly. He made a face.  
“What?” Raven said, wondering where his agile mind had wandered off too this time?  
“I realised I’d used the word fretting.” Tony said, mock-horrified. He leant over the couch and confided in her, mock solemnly. “Makes you sound like a horse.”  
“Fretting? Maybe a little.” She whinnied for him, and he gave her a flashing grin, as he crossed to the minibar. It was Pepper’s apartment, but she had a minibar, because she worked for Tony Stark.

“Anyway.” Tony said, cheerfully, pouring himself a drink. He didn’t offer Raven one. Charles had threatened to dismember him if he allowed Raven’s innocence to be corrupted in any way, and Tony wasn’t interested in ruining whichever one of his suits he’d be in when Charles inevitably found out “SATS go alright?” He was pretty sure those were the exams Raven had just sat.  
“Ok, I guess.” Raven shrugged, elaborately casual, but Tony had seen better masks before. He snorted.  
“You guess? Who are you kidding, you’re Xavier’s sister. You’ll have annihilated them, sweetheart.” She smiled unhappily. Tony’s eyes narrowed, slightly.  
“Seriously, now, they went ok? Because you know me, I can buy a planet or build a super computer, but I refuse to bribe examination officials or tutor you in anything. Charles would kill me.” He took a sip of his cocktail for support. 

“Yeah. It’s not the exams.” Raven said and turned her head away from him. Tony took a larger gulp of his drink and prepared to enter the dangerous world of teen girl angst.  
“Boy trouble? Girl trouble?” He paused, face wrinkled in thought, and then offered another option. “Hermaphrodite trouble?”  
“NO!” Raven said, rather desperately. “Ugh, Uncle Tony, I would never ask for advice from you about that-“ Tony heaved a huge mental sigh of relief.  
“Of course, who’m I asking? You’re too lovely and too smart for that so-“ Raven groaned and hid her face. “Am I babbling? I think I’m babbling, Raven find me something else to talk about, please.”  
“I was thinking about college.” Raven didn’t want to talk about Charles and the Markos just yet. It felt like that would make it all real.  
“Why’s that got you down?” _College._? Raven was almost as smart as her big brother, and twice as charming, She’d eat college up with a spoon, Tony thought. 

Raven’s answer was slow and reluctant.  
“Fees.” It was hard to talk about this to one of the richest men in two galaxies, but Tony had known Charles- known Raven- since everyone of them had been tiny.  
“Fees?” Tony blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. Raven shot him a surprised look.  
“Look, I get what Charles did for me isn’t what a lot of brothers would. He took me to college with him and got me out of that damn house and away from Kurt and Cain. I know he worked two jobs to keep us fed and everything.” She said, quietly, almost like she was feeling guilty. Tony saw no point in feeling bad about what other people chose to do.  
“So? He did that because he wanted to, you know he did. If I’d had access to more than my trust funds, then-“

“Yeah, Tony. I know. But that’s the problem. I’m not as smart as he is. I won’t be able to hold down two jobs and still graduate in the top five percent, and I don’t know- I can’t keep taking from him, you know?” Raven shrugged and went back to staring out the window.  
“Ah.” Tony said. He liked the sound, so he said it again. “Ah.” His dark eyes were thoughtful as he looked at her. “Youthful pride there, or a need for adult responsibility?”  
“Can it be both?” Raven said, wryly. A corner of her mouth quirked up, to match Tony’s rueful grin.  
“Yeah, it usually is.”

“Well. While I apply my genius mind to this one, want to tell me what your brother’s latest message said?” Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and began to think, furiously. Raven’s face twisted, unhappily.  
“Tony… I haven’t heard from him since the last one. I sent it on to you.”  
“Wait, the last one?” Tony began calculating rapidly.  
“Yes, he’s been radio-silent since before… before the exams started.” Raven paled. “That’s _ages._ ”

“That’s too long.” Tony muttered unhappily. “He should have sent something by now.”  
“Maybe it’s broken?” Raven offered. “It’s a prototype, right?”  
“Yes, maybe. Wait, no, it’s one of my prototypes. What about the usual communicator?” Raven flushed.  
“I, um, I don’t know. He didn’t bother with e-mails, they took forever, and yours is so neat- it’s in colour and everything-“ He smiled, briefly. “We usually used just that. Raven finished, worriedly.

“I’ll look into it.” Tony said, after pause where his face went unnervingly blank. “I don’t trust the Markos, never have. Sorry kiddo.” Raven smiled, tentatively.  
“And I’ll think about the other thing, yeah? There might be a job, or a scholarship or internship that’s a good fit for you, in Stark industries.  
“Not Charity.” Raven said and then flushed again. Tony grinned, fiercely.  
“Xaviers.” He shook his head. “Course it wouldn’t be charity- you’d work your ass off, you know you would.” He yanked out his pocket comp, and started tapping away. After two minutes of total silence, he sat cross legged on the couch and continued.  
Raven left him to it.  
\--------------------------------------

 

“Jeannis, why are you curled up on my patient?” The Master Medic’s voice was amused. Charles looked up to see her standing at the door, and tried to sit up straighter. It was a struggle with the little girl snuggled up to him.  
“He’s comfy. And I get to see the screen better.” She protested.  
“Jeannis is helping me follow the action and understand the subtext.” Charles offered. Logan rolled his eyes.  
“Jeannis, I believe it is time for your lessons with Medic Sean.” The little girl drooped, but went obediently enough. She gave Charles a final hug and slid off the bed. She waved as she left the room. Frost gave Logan a meaningful glance. Logan nodded to her in reply. She looked at him. Blandly, he looked back.

There was a short pause, and then Frost sighed, and spoke  
“Logan, please leave, now.”  
“Why?” he grunted.  
“Privacy.”  
“I don’t mind.” He smirked, a little, and glanced at Charles.  
“Not yours, Logan. His.” She nodded at Charles. 

Logan flicked off the Tales of Ea with one claw, and stomped out, muttering a goodbye to Charles as he went. Charles smiled at her, a little weakly.  
“Alone at last?” he said, mock flirtatiously. The master Medic did not smile as she sank into the chair next to his bed.  
“You are not alone, Charles Xavier. I am here.” She explained, kindly.  
“That’s not what I- never mind” He broke off as she held out what looked like a small and elaborate wrist computer towards him.  
“I have here a standard wristcom and locator, for you. Use it well.” 

At her glance he held out an arm, obediently letting her fasten it round his thin wrist.  
“Use it well?” he queried, curiously.  
“I would suggest a little stroll in the hydroponic garden area. Very pretty.”  
“Now?” Charles asked, hopefully. Even shoeless, he was itching to explore.  
“In a little while. Don’t walk too far, and don’t go alone the first few times.” She cautioned him. Charles nodded as he stared at the alien tech.

“But … whereabouts can I go? I don’t want to intrude.” He didn’t want to annoy the People, not after their care had saved his life.  
“It should let you into any non sensitive areas on Iron Flame.” Frost said, watching him sharply. Charles found himself distracted.  
“Iron Flame?”  
“The ship. Also our clan name.” She smiled, reassuringly. “Don’t worry so. Sensitive areas, it will not admit you to. You are recovering well, and you need to start stretching your legs.” Voiceless, Charles nodded. “You are no longer worried by strange technology?” Her voice was tentative.  
“I’ve stopped thinking of every controller as belonging to a torture device, it’s true.” He smiled wryly.  
“Except if Logan has control of the entertainment.”  
“Not at all” he protested. “Some of them have been very educational.” She snorted. “Thank you.” He continued, quietly “I still don’t know how to say how grateful I am-“

The Master Medic cut him off, saying firmly:  
“It is not necessary. We know.”  
“You know?” What did they know? Charles tried not to be alarmed.  
“That you are grateful. As are those of us who know why what happened to you… happened.” The Master Medic said, delicately.  
“Ah.”  
Charles swallowed, and looked away. After a moment, Frost spoke again.  
“I must talk to you about the speed of your recovery.”  
“I did think my ribs… everything seems to be getting better very quickly.”  
“Physically, that is so.”

And, Frost thought, _this is no time to be talking about your mental recovery._ The young human had been tortured, almost to death, and then abandoned by his kin group. They had certainly intended him to die. Some of these wounds could be healed after his adoption, but Charles Xavier definitely needed emotional medical aid also.  
“Have you thought about why that should be?” she asked, carefully.  
“I thought it was your knowledge, your medical care…?” Charles picked at the fluff on the blanket. She put a hand out to stop him, claws sheathed. Startled, he looked up at her.  
“Yes. And also no.”

_“No?” Charles swallowed, nervously._  
“Jeannis.” She said, steadily. “You recall the drink that caused you to pass out?”  
“I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm!” Charles protested. He didn’t want any harm to come to the little girl. Jeannis was a child, and she should be treated as such.  
“It was not what she intended,” Frost said, crisply, “but what could have occurred.” Charles looked blankly anxious. She softened.  
“You see, what Jeannis gave you was emergency first aid, for us.”  
“I don’t quite follow?” He still looked worried. 

_“The drink was full of nanites.”_  
“Nanites? I don’t know that word.”  
“Very small medical machines.” She explained.  
“Oh. My. _God_ ”. Charles stared, in silence. Just when he thought he had a grasp on the People’s skills and tech level something like this popped up. 

_“Charles Xavier? Charles?”_  
“Nanites.” He said, faintly. Tony would _love_ this. “I have a friend who would love to have a look at them.”  
“Use of them is extremely restricted, and knowledge of them is never to be passed to an outsider. On pain of banishment, abandonment, or execution.”  
“Banishment? Abandonment?” he queried, anxiously. That did not sound good. For Jeannis.  
“Being cast out of the People.” _Jeannis was so young._  
“Oh. I see. Yes, I do see. Well, now that I’m better, can’t you just… turn them off? Purge them or something?” he asked, hopefully. Frost sighed.  
“They don’t work like that. You’ve been colonised. They’ll be with you the rest of your life- which is likely to be quite long.” There was a pause, before Charles spoke, smiling wryly. 

_“I feel so- so _occupied__ , suddenly.” His voice took on a serious tone. “Don’t worry. I shall not speak of them to anyone not of the People.”  
“You swear?” Frost said, steadily.  
“I swear. I won’t even talk about them to myself…” She looked a little puzzled. “I mean I’m not one of the People.” Bad joke. He’d better make sure he was cremated, as well, thought Charles. That would keep them from being discovered, after his death.  
“Not yet.” Said Frost, enigmatically.  
“What?” Charles said, blankly. He couldn’t see her point at all.  
“It would not be the first time we’ve adopted an alien into the People. We have many families and houses; we’re bound to have one suitable for you.”  
“Oh. That sounds… nice.” 

_He swallowed at a sudden lump in his throat. Adoption. It would be symbolic, of course, probably with a little ritual, or symbolic signature or something. But still. Clans and families. Kinship ties. He felt it would have been nice, to have a large family. He’d always felt that. Frost placed her hand on his shoulder. He blinked at her._  
“When did you last eat?”  
“Um. Before Logan arrived?” Charles frowned, trying to remember.  
“Too long ago,” she concluded, and moved to the dispenser. “I will order you some soup.” He frowned slightly, she frowned back. “You will eat it. I promise it won’t make you start seeing things.”  
“That was only once!” Damn Logan and his ninja snacks.  
“Once was enough. You were hiding under the bed, from flying spoons, for half a day.” The dispenser beeped. She pulled the soup out, and laid the bed table across his lap. “Eat.” He tasted it, cautiously. Some of the People’s foods tasted very odd to human tastebuds. This one was delicious, however. He ate. 

_Frost smiled._


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles makes a vow, and continues to misundertand. There's a lovely general meeting. Erik actually appears in this chapter. I know, but his absence has been necessary for PLOT.

Ship Master Erik of Clan Iron Flame tried to resist beating his head on the table. Things would feel so much better when he stopped, then. His master medic carefully placed her hand on his forehead.  
“Go ahead. Just remember, we need your brains unbruised.” He sighed.  
“How many of them have gathered in the meeting room _now?_ ”  
“Most of the major houses on Iron Flame have at least one voice. Likewise the departments. Engineering has sent three family members; and one clan voice.”  
“Why does _engineering_ want a telepath?” He wondered.  
“They lost the most family in the landing; they are still feeling the lack, I think.” She paused, and then said, sharply; “Stop it! How many times and in how may ways must we all remind you that landing here as we did _was not your fault_!” 

He knew better than to protest to a telepath, and merely sighed again.  
“How is the human progressing? Report, please.” She cocked a curious ear at his description, but made no verbal comment.  
“Physically? His bones have mostly healed well, although he may have some residual weakness for a while. Logan reports he moves easily even when not aware of company.”  
“And the burns?”  
“All covered with new skin. Still tender and I believe there is still some mild nerve damage to be repaired, but I would report his condition as currently satisfactory, considering the state of his health when he was brought in.” He nodded, gesturing at her to continue.  
“Mentally? I do not think I could truthfully say I know the _human_ mind _well_.” She threw him a humorous glance, he smiled in response. “But his is calmer, now, in the presence of technology; and although his sleep is frequently disturbed, he is more willing to report it.”

“He’s having sleeping problems?” Erik felt an unbidden pang of sympathy.  
“Nightmares. It appears to be one of the ways the human mind processes trauma,” she said, drily.  
“Ah.” Erik said, neutrally.  
“I have hope that as he has come to feel safer here, he may also come to value himself more. Half his concerns are for other people, or how he may be a burden.”  
“Foolish.”  
“If his relatives here” She made a hissing noise of disgust “had him in their power- I will not say, care- when he was younger, it would explain much. If they did not value him, he would learn not to either.”

“Disgusting.” Erik could remember his own mother's care, and those of his fosters when she had died.  
“True. But it happens. And you cannot pretend the People are perfect when it comes to raising kittens.”  
“True.” Erik nodded, rueful. As Ship Master any such problems usually ened up in his lap eventually.  
“But I have hope he will come to rely on... better judgements, in time."  
“And yet you allow Logan to visit.” He snarked, mildly enough.  
“Logan’s manners are rough, and his attitude to authority matches yours, Ship Master.” She grinned at him again. “But he is gentle with hurt souls, and he is in all things honest. Charles trusts him. He likes Charles. So Charles may learn to value himself.” 

The Ship Master nodded, thoughtfully.  
“The other humans have had one meeting with us; where they reported their telepath translator diplomat missing. That was as expected. Their attitude was _not_. It was… unpleasant. I will not send Jeannis to them again; we can’t rely on her youth or telepathy to protect her.” The Ship Master said, calmly as he could.  
Judging by the Master Medic’s reaction, that was not very calm at all. Jeannis was part of his close family. His background meant he had fewer kin ties than most of the People, and many of the rest were still back with the land bound side of Clan Iron Flame. Being a ship clan did not, despite the name, mean that all of Iron Flame’s families and houses were on board. Every ship had a port, somewhere on a planet settled by the People, where they could return. Every Land clan had a Ship, every Ship clan had a Land to return to. 

Something Erik wished he could do right now, instead of waiting for the Fleet.  
“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to have to deal with this. Not with humans. Not after-“ He broke off, unwilling to put his memories into words.  
“I know you do not, sweet. But. You are Ship Master. You must.” He nodded, tightly. Her tone gentled.“Consider, though- of all of us, you know what it is like to lose family. To be betrayed by those who should be like you. To be alone.”  
“Yes. But-“

“No buts. You come closest to being able to share his experiences and mind set. You should meet with Charles Xavier, talk with him.” He winced. “For your sake as well as his,” she added.  
“Perhaps I will.” The Ship Master said, cautiously.  
“After this meeting.” He groaned again.  
“On you go. I will attend in a little while.”  
“You will?” he said, surprised.  
“My House is good at catering for telepaths. I have promised to lay a claim to kinship on that ground later.”  
“Later?” he said, half curious, half envious.  
“After the hot air has been released.” He groaned again. Her grin was wicked.

 

In the galleried meeting chamber, Grey stood firm. He and his cousin had seen the human translator diplomat first. She had already expressed, unofficially, an interest in the young man, at that first meeting. The diplomatic delay group had, therefore, a primary claim in the matter of the adoption of Charles Xavier. He said so, repeatedly, while Erik stared down the long table, and tallied up the representatives sitting there, all waiting their turn to stake a claim to the adoption of Charles Xavier, when he was judged recovered enough. There was an impressive collection of the People, here for the potential adoption of one alien.

Adoptions took place when individuals were left without family or houses or clans, or wanted to move between them. Charles Xavier’s relations were not worthy of him. He had misjudged them, but the other humans had misjudged Charles Xavier just as badly as he’d misjudged them. None of them, not even Charles, had realised the People were far more advanced than they had been pretending to be, as well as far better armed. When the other humans revealed their greedy and murderous plans, he had refused to go along with them. Charles Xavier had desperately tried to protect strange and primitive aliens from what he believed to be the overwhelming forces of his own kind. His own kind, who had first tortured and then abandoned him in the desert to die. He’d paid for that resistance with his own blood, rather than risk any of the People’s lives.

If the People had revealed more of their resources earlier, this might not have happened. That left the People indebted to him. The debt was only partially paid by helping Charles to heal himself. It was in the young telepath’s’ best interests as well the People’s interests that this state of affairs was dealt with properly. The excitement and drama of the story behind the person, added to the debt felt by many of the People towards him. The fact that Charles was, according to Master Medic Frost, a powerful and deeply moral telepath, meant that this adoption was likely to be hotly contested. A contest that had to be arbitrated by Erik, as Ship Master, and ultimate head of every house and family in the ShipClan.

The Ship Master had hoped they would allow his suggestion of letting the poor human himself choose, but that had been voted down. The House Summers rep had pointed out that as the Human had insufficient knowledge of the People’s culture and groupings, he might very well choose a family that was not a good match. This had met with general agreement; they all knew that his human family had turned on him like the barbarian monsters they were. No one believed anyone of the People was capable of such; but such a terrible experience might well leave Charles Xavier with damaged judgement and ability to trust. Or so they had said.  
Truthfully, Erik thought, it was more that no one actually wanted to wait that long before hashing the matter out to general satisfaction. Also, of course, as adjudicator, the Ship Master could not press his own (small) family’s claim. He was head of his family, and no one else could lay a claim in meeting. If Charles had been making the choice himself, Erik might have had a better chance to persuade him to pick the Ship Master’s family. 

Being a decent man of the People, and a good leader, Erik had not picked that option, given that he would have better access to the human than almost anyone else in the ship, if he chose. Erik hadn’t met the human yet. At first he had been too sick and too frightened; later Erik had been much too busy. Playing at primitives and waiting for rescue had seemed like a good way of keeping his people safe and maintaining the First Contact Laws, until the Markos had arrived. After that, things had gotten complex. Erik had enough responsibilities keeping the ship and the clan together and functioning whilst they waited for rescue; and he already had Sean (brat) and Jeannis and… the others in his family to look after. Whatever Sean might say, Erik wasn’t interested in adding another heavy responsibility in the shape of a traumatised human to his family.

Head of Engineering spoke up then- there are a number of families involved in the engineering department, and many of them have space and time to care for an additional member, she says. She does not mention that this is because many of the engineers died when Iron Flame came crashing down. She does not have to. Doubtless, she says, the human would be able to translate human technological and engineering texts. Since engineering lost the most technicians, they have best claim on anyone who could strengthen technological and engineering knowledge for Iron Flame. She smiled, broadly.

Life Support has pooled its various family and house claims into one general statement, to be delivered by the head of hydroponics, who feels that this thoughtfulness to the meeting, and the different botanical and biological knowledge the human may have or require means their claim is the best. Next to her, the head of House Quest clears his throat, and stands, ready to stake a claim. He glances at the hand comp and makes a final note before beginning to speak. 

So far this meeting has lasted three hours, by Erik’s calculation. There are at least five more speakers to go. Erik does not hit his head on the table, but it’s a near thing. He steps out for a refreshment break, instead. Morosely, he drinks fruit juice and hopes everyone gets themselves together while he’s taking a breather. When the server at the refreshment table asks him if they can make an adoption claim, he goes back in, hastily. There’s a brief flurry from one of the galleries, and everyone is distracted when Erik returns. Frost sends apologies; Charles Xavier was watching the discussions and just had the purpose of the meeting explained to him. Briefly, accidentally, he broadcast his reaction.

Apparently, he was rather pleasantly surprised. 

This modesty means he would do well in any of House Phoenix’s families, says their speaker. Phoenix are rather reserved. They pride themselves on their spiritual natures, Erik knows. Charles wouldn’t do well there, in his opinion. He’s careful not to say that out loud, of course. The young human would do better in a small family, one with plenty of energy and affection, if Erik’s read Frost’s reports correctly. He needs friendly physical contact, un pressured affection, and, above, all time. Time to heal. To learn and grow. Erik knows, because that is what he needed, once. Time that Erik can give him by listening to the rest of these speeches, unfortunately. Ah well. He sits back and lets the debate continue, ignoring Frost’s snickers in his head. She’ll be laying her own claim soon, he’s sure of it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there Logan, Frost. Can you work on Charles' self esteem, a bit, please? You can? Slendid!

Iron Flame was a beautiful ship. They could be rightfully proud of her. Charles mused to himself. He wandered the corridors, curiously. There seemed to be rather fewer of the People around today, and those he did see were mostly in ship greys, as he was, intent on screens or comp pads, and too busy to be disturbed. Charles continued exploring. He hardly needed to explain himself; he didn’t think a single one of them wouldn’t know him as that human translator-diplomat. Thanks to Logan’s damn patrol, the news of what had… happened had got everywhere. Charles pushed the memory away, renewing his mental shields.He still hoped Jean wouldn’t get into too much trouble over the nanites. She had meant no harm, and it had saved his life. He would have been dead before his rescuers had reached him, otherwise. As it was, he was really completely better, now.

“Xavier.” The voice was cool, and unhurried. Charles looked up to see the sleek white form of Iron Flame’s Master Medic and hurried to greet her properly.   
“Medic Frost.” He bowed.  
“And what are you doing out and about in these corridors?”  
“Oh, exercising myself, as directed.” Charles said, cheerfully.   
Frost smiled at him, brightly. Perhaps it was coincidence that this revealed almost all of her very sharp teeth. He was not worried. Not _really._  
Frost might have a fearsome reputation, but she herself had encouraged him to leave the sickbay for short periods. She couldn’t be angry over someone obeying her, could she? One of her ears twitched in elegant enquiry.

“I believe I said you should visit the hydroponics gardens, if you could.”  
“Yes, but the Iron Flame is such an interesting ship.”  
“Indeed. Walk with me?”   
Her grasp on his arm was gentle but unyielding. Charles smiled and complied. They walked. Frost’s eyes were as sharp as her medical scanners, assessing him from head to toe and inside and out. They talked of minor things: Jean’s last visit, the latest dust storm, a vid serial Charles found he very much liked. Master Medic Frost walked them into a gallery above one of the larger meeting rooms. It was empty apart from Logan, sprawled on a seat and idly watching the comings and goings below. He waved, rather than stand and bow, in greeting. Frost’s fur seemed to bristle, slightly, but she said nothing, simply urging Charles into another chair.

She stepped to the dispenser, and dialled drinks, handing a nameless yellow drink to Charles with firm authority. Charles took it, obediently, and tasted it. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but he had absolutely no idea what it was. Frost looked at him, pointedly. Resignedly, he drank more. The room below was full of the People, in ship greys and more formal robes, talking in groups, passing messages back and forth and debating. The murmur that reached them from the floor was quite considerable.  
“So… what is this discussion about?” Charles asked. “It seems very passionate.”  
“They’re all talking over who gets to adopt you.” Frost said, straightforwardly. Her ears twitched, briefly.  
“Ah, trying to find a ceremonial volunteer? That will keep Jeannis out of trouble, won’t it?” He smiled, awkwardly. “Good luck with that.” He had hoped they’d be able to find somebody willing to acknowledge a human as a connection without too much difficulty. It would be embarrassing if they couldn’t. Jeannis needed him to be adopted to stay out of trouble. 

Really, it wasn’t like they’d actually have to deal with him for _long_. Frost’s eyes narrowed.   
“There is nothing merely _ceremonial_ about this, Charles Xavier.” Her ears flicked in amusement. “And I believe the problem is more finding a family or House willing to relinquish their claim for you.” She was unsurprised at the number of interested groups. “You would be a prize in any House of Clan Iron Flame.” Xavier leaked a startled blip of emotion past his shields before catching himself up with a hasty apology. Frost blinked. That had not felt like a simple reaction at all. She saw Logan twitch sharply; he had felt that, too. What had shocked the telepath this time? He had to know his own worth in the eyes of the People, by _now_ , surely?

The gathered elders and experts rolled a polite collective enquiry towards the mental disturbance. Frost waved them away with polite reassurance. Logan’s tail twitched, dismissively. Charles clearly had nothing to add to the conversation. They returned to their vehement, low voiced discussions.   
“Ya didn’t get that memo? Clan Iron Flame _like you_. Even if you’re human.” murmured Logan, sotto voce, from his other side. He chuckled.   
“I… Yes, well, I... I know that family ties and clan are very important to, to The People, but I… I, well, I’m human and, and…” Charles trailed off, weakly. Frost and Logan shared a look.  
“Didn’t think we’d see your actions, see you, and not value what we saw?” Charles made a vague, helpless gesture that explained nothing. Frost smiled.  
Charles felt it was not so much the fact that he was a human that had made him assume the People would not welcome him as one of them. It was rather more that he did not generally expect _anyone_ , human or otherwise to actually want _him_ as a relation, given the choice. 

Going by past evidence, Kurt and Cain certainly hadn’t. He tried to keep that behind his shields. From the look on Frost’s face he was only partially successful. “Sweet eyes, do I have to spell it out for you?” She took a deep breath.  
“Charles. You tried to prevent what you thought was an unimportant group of primitive aliens being exploited or killed, by your family.” Charles twitched. “Even when that meant your torture and death. You’re smart. Jeannis says you’re kind. You’re also a telepathic sentient, which is _rare_ ” She gave a slow, thoughtful twitch of her tail. Logan nodded in agreement.  
“Frankly, I’m amazed they haven’t started popping claws yet.” Frost concluded.  
“Like I just said.” added Logan, brightly. “We like you. We see what we like, we try to pick it up, around here.”  
“I didn’t- I don’t-” Charles was certain he was babbling. He wasn’t at all sure what he “didn’t” except, perhaps understand. 

Pick him up? _Like_ him? They’d regret it- Logan shot out an arm, grabbing the nape of Charles’ neck, and shook him very gently. “Idjit. Do we gotta say this again?” Charles gaped. “What’s not to like?” Logan shook him again, still gentle. Charles felt as if he’d been hit over the head.   
“Positively heroic. And handsome, too.” Frost reminded him, calmly. Charles blinked, and took a long, slow sip of his drink. It failed to bring clarity to his thoughts.  
“Bald as a kitten is not handsome.” Logan muttered. “Cute, to mamas missing their kits, maybe.” He paused, thinking. “Heroic, sure.” Frost smirked. Her teeth glinted. Dazed, Charles held on to one minor certainty.  
“I’m not bald!” He ruffled his hair by way of evidence. They both snorted. He didn’t think it was worth attempting to persuade them of his lack of heroic qualities.  
“Your face is. Apart from that feeble bit o’ red whisker round the bottom.” Logan leaned back in his chair, still grinning.

Charles blinked, indignantly. He swallowed down the last of the potion Frost had brought him. It still tasted strange. Not entirely unpleasant, but strange. He hoped it was doing him and his nannies good.  
“That is a _beard_ , and it’s because I can’t locate a razor and shaving foam on this ship.” Charles blinked again, stifling a yawn. Frost stood, in an elegant rustle of fabrics.  
“Well, as entertaining as watching you wriggle like a poked veeble is, I have to stake my House’s claim before the end of this session. Logan, try to keep him out of trouble.” Logan tilted his head in acknowledgement of her careless order. Frost laid her hand on Charles’s head, running her fingers through his hair; claws retracted, and strolled away. There was a brief silence. Charles stared at the groups below, all apparently competing for him to join them. Be one of them. It failed to compute.

“I really don’t know what they think I can do for them. I mean, I’m not, not influential, or, or rich…” Charles’s voice dwindled. He didn’t want to think about the future, about the limited options available to him in human space. No certificates. No job prospects. Raven’s needs. Marko Industries’ everlasting hatred. Weariness rose in him.  
“It’s not about human influence, or wealth, bub. We don’t weigh ‘em like humans measure ‘em. It’s about who’s good for Clan Iron Flame.” Logan had not thought of Xavier being anything other than a lone telepath translator-diplomat. He refused to think of the Markos as sharing a _species_ with Charles, let alone kinship ties. The way human Houses and clans measured influences and divided their resources was just downright strange, to Logan.  
“My father left me an inheritance, apparently, when he died, but it sort of went… missing. I was still very young when my mother married Kurt.” And he had more than a few suspicions about that, but this was hardly the time. 

Charles found himself fighting another yawn. The nanites at work again, no doubt. He hardly got out of bed these days, before he needed to roll back in. Logan looked at him, thoughtfully. The young human would always look pale to the People’s eyes, he knew, but there was a worn, strained quality to his too bare face and shadowed eyes that Logan didn’t like. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been badly hurt, even if the obvious wounds were gone, now. Also Frost would have his hide for a throw rug if he didn’t take care of her current sickbay kitten. Logan coughed. He watched the other’s eyes snap open again, hurriedly, with some amusement. The Master Medic was as icy as her name, but anyone in her medical care was one of her family, whatever House or species they might believe they were. And she kept her claws sharp. Logan was not interested in pissing off a medic. 

Charles blinked. The chair he was in was very comfortable. If he leaned back, it was almost like being in bed. The distant mind murmur in the room below was comforting. Listening to the noise of friendly thoughts rising and falling like far away music kept away his anxieties. His ship greys were warm enough in Iron Flame’s cool air, even with bare feet. Idly, he wondered about introducing slippers to the People.  
“Sleepy again?” Logan murmured, right next to him. Charles twitched. Why did he have to move, again? He was comfortable.  
“I, um, that is, I ah-” This yawn would not be smothered.   
“Taking that as a yes.” Logan stood, and offered a hand up. “I’ll walk ya’ back to sickbay.” Charles grumbled as he stood up.   
“’Mm ok. Really I am.” Logan snaked a supportive arm around him. 

“I ain’t arguing with the medic, even if you want to. Come on, bub.” He tugged, gently, and Charles went with him to the lift tube without arguing. He was all but leaning on Logan once they were standing in the tube. Must have been tired, Logan reckoned. He’d have lifted the human along once they were out of it, but he didn’t think Charles would find it funny. Logan had no real idea how comfortable Xavier was with being held or carried, anyway. He’d been flinching away from everyone on the patrol, probably because of telepathic shock, panic, or the pain he was in. Or all three; he’d been messed up bad, and not just bodily, by the other humans. Charles had stopped shivering when anyone brought out a med scanner, now, but his startle response to being playfully grabbed or touched veered dangerously close to panic at times. Logan guessed some of that was due to plain simple deprivation growing up, never mind the recent trauma.

Logan dismissed the memories before they could leak; the last thing he wanted was to pass them back along to the telepath. He looked at the sickbay light with relief.  
“Think you can handle the bed by yourself, this time?” Charles grinned, ruefully.  
“I suspect-” he yawned again- “I can conquer my sheets alone, this time. Thank you, Logan.” Logan was stuck, again, by the astonishingly appealing nature of Xavier’s weary smile and kitten-blue eyes. Xavier really had no idea how closely he resembled an overgrown veeble or kitten. They should label him as containing dangerously high amounts of cute, really. For safety’s sake. He ruffled the telepath’s hair, quickly. Charles was unable to duck in time, and simply sighed. 

His hair, longer than the People’s fur, stood up in amazing disarray.  
“Sleep deep.” Charles acknowledged him with a sleepy wave. Abruptly, Logan remembered his own reputation as a fearsome fighter and dangerous man. Hair ruffling was not the way to maintain it. He turned away. Behind him, the door hissed shut, safely. Xavier wasn’t some new mama’s bundle of joy, he was a grown man, with a grown man’s duties… and problems. Currently, he had a human’s problems. Sure, the experts talked about aliens and alien cultures being different, but still. Logan shrugged. Claws could settle a lot of things where talking couldn’t.Logan shook his head. He had no business finding anyone, even sleepy humans, cute or adorable. A passing tech glanced at him, alarmed. Logan grinned, idly running his tongue along his teeth, and watched the suddenly tense tech fluff up as if he’d threatened them directly. _Yep_ , he thought. _Still got it._

Pretty soon, Xavier’d be part of Clan Iron Flame, anyway. A whole lot of his problems would go away, then. If they knew what was good for them. And if they didn’t, well. Charles might be surprised, but Logan was prepared. The People could make them go away. Idly, he popped his claws. Still sharp. Whistling, he strode on.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony goes after his best friend, and brings his best friends' baby sister and his Big Gun along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I updated this. November, I cannot believe I left it so long. I hope no one was waiting for it.
> 
> If you like it, or even if you don't, please leave a comment- no one seems to do that with this one. *sad face*

“What do you mean, the planet’s restricted access?” Tony shouted. Raven bit her lip and tried not to cry. Charles’ odd silence had turned into a disappearance. One that his step family- technically her family, too- didn’t seem to be doing very much about, other than registering him as MIA, believed killed; and placing an inheritance claim on his property; which would have left Raven homeless, without Tony and Pepper .  
“I’m sorry, sir.” The Marko Industries drone didn’t sound at all sorry. They never did, Raven remembered, from the times before Charles had rescued them both.  
Tony gave a little laugh that did not sound at all happy, and ran his fingers through his hair.  
“No.” he said, quietly. “I don’t think so.” 

The secretary, PA, whoever he was, flinched back at the soft menace in his tone. “You see, sweetheart; she’s a Marko.” He pointed at Raven who did her best to look like she was old enough to be involved in the “family” business. “And her brother’s on that planet.” Tony continued  
“Sir, Ma’am, Charles Xavier has been registered as-“  
“Missing, yeah, that’s why I- we- are going down there.”  
“The situation is very tense.”  
“So am I.” Tony snapped. “It’s going to take us two days to get there; you’re slowing us down. I’m Tony Stark. You might have heard of me? I don’t like to be slowed down.”

“Sir-“  
Raven let the chatter fade out and sank back into her worries. She tried to keep breathing and not panic. Panicking made it harder for her to stay blonde; she didn’t want to make it harder for Tony by distracting people with her blue self. Charles was _missing_. Her brother, her rock, her protector- he’d gone into the clutches of the Marko’s, and even if he hadn’t said so, Raven was sure he’d done it partly for her, and he had disappeared. Neither the FAC team not the search parties of Marko Industries employees had been able to find any trace of him.

The rapid tapping of high heels broke into the conversation and Raven’s fears. She looked up to see Ms Potts, Tony’s famed- and feared- right hand woman, second in command and general Big Gun. Raven breathed. Pepper would make things ok; surely?  
“Sign here.” Pepper said, to Tony.  
“Aww, Pepper…” Tony said, irritated. “Can’t it wait? I’m trying-“  
“No.” Pepper said, briskly. “Sign. Here.” She held out the docu-pad.  
“I don’t like being handed things.” Tony grumbled. 

“Or stupid people, and this man is being stupid, Pepper.” He gestured at the Marko stooge, he at least had the sense to look worried as Pepper focused on him.  
“That’s why I’m here.” Pepper said. “Raven, you need to sign this one. Do you know how-?”  
“Yeah, retinal scan, thumbprint and sign.” Raven said. “Like exam papers.” She took the docu-pad Pepper held out to her.  
“Pepper-“ Tony said. She gave him one long, cool look. He pressed his thumb to the pad, and reached for his smart pen.

“Now, you need to witness these.” Pepper said, pleasantly, to the stooge. He looked startled, but accepted the pads obediently. “And read them.” Pepper advised him, sweetly. The drone did so, and his eyes started to widen.  
“Ma’am, I-“  
“You understand them?” Pepper said, still sweet.  
“You- these are company share documents.” He faltered. “You- he-“  
“Now owns a large amount of Marko Industries, yes.” She said. Tony gave a sudden, gleeful cackle. Pepper raised an eyebrow at him and he subsided.

“Speaking as a fellow employee.” Pepper said, brightly. “I really do advise you to co-operate with your employer. At least, the two who are right here.” She smiled at the poor stooge, and he recoiled in sensible terror.  
“I’ll- I’ll just-“ he said, frantically tapping away at his ‘puter.  
“Do that.” Pepper said, calmly. “Before he starts thinking about getting into his special suit.”  
“Can you set up a series of meetings at the same time?” Raven said. “We need to talk to the FAC team, separately, and-“  
“Yes ma’am.” The stooge said, hopelessly. “I can- would you like to speak to the, uh, the natives, too?  
“Yes.” Pepper, Tony and Raven said, as one


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wakes up, reflects, and eats soup, whilst preparing for a visitor.

Charles woke up alone, hours after Logan walked him back to his room. He hadn’t had a nightmare. It was not the first time that had happened, but it was unusual enough for him to notice. His sleep was still very irregular. Waves of exhaustion- like the one that had put him to sleep, earlier- rolled over him at entirely unpredictable times. And, too often for Charles to feel completely rested, the resulting sleep was uneasy, full of night terrors or nightmares; either of his interrogation or older ones, anxiety dreams from his childhood and college years. They tended to leave him unsettled. Also, no medical attendant of the People could or would leave Charles to get on with it, if his sleep was bad. Invariably, he would be woken and resettled, almost like a fussy baby with first time parents, if his nightmare revealed itself by noises or movements.

Charles ignored his softly-glowing wristcom, left neatly by his bed, and checked the ship time by padding, barefoot as always, to the door of his shielded room and opening it. The opening of the door broke the shielding, and the mind glow of the late afternoon shift washed over him. He drew in a peaceful breath and returned to his room. Charles left the door closed but unsealed; which meant the eerie muted silence of the shield was softened by the background hum of so many minds close by. Charles liked Iron Flames’ mind-glow. It was pleasant to perceive, and left him feeling grounded; connected in ways which living in no human city had ever managed to. 

He was going to miss it. He moved from his bed to the chair Logan had dragged in; and wondered what to do. He looked at the doc reader, loaded with dubious entertainments by Logan, and Sean. It didn’t seem appealing. He sighed. Boredom was a good sign, a sign of returning health, but it _felt_ dreadfully dull. His feet were cold; so he curled them underneath him and considered the basic science texts Jeannis had left him; that explained the nanites and how to look after them. He couldn’t read the People’s alphabet very well, yet, but most of Jeannis’ things had an audio commentary or visual guide as well as written information.

Idly, he considered as shower. Most rooms in the Quarters would not have had such a thing; the People generally preferred sonic showers for the basic process of getting clean, and communal bathing and grooming for the relaxation humans looked for after washing. So far, Charles had not felt well enough to go to the baths- which were rationed, anyway, with Iron Flame on lock-down, but he was vaguely aware that, sooner rather than later, Logan or Sean or Frost were going to get him to the bathing pools, and then he’d probably have to explain more of his scars than he really wanted to; that is, any of them. And meet more of the People.

The People Charles had met, had all been interesting and friendly, so far. Even Frost, with her ferocious air of authority and competence, or Logan’s annoying habit of using teasing to show his affection, were pleasant to be around; and genuine seemed to enjoy Charles’s presence, but still, Charles felt a little shy about meeting more than one or two of the People at once. He would be their first- possibly only- face-to-face experience of humanity, and Charles could admit, very quietly, to himself, that he found the responsibility of forming the first impression of his entire species somewhat of a burden; even before he factored in the problem of the reputations the Markos and the FAC teams had earned on board the Iron Flame.

It was quite clear that no one put Charles in the same categories as the other humans on the planet; Charles was sure that that was mostly because something about him- his telepathy, his injuries, he wasn’t quite sure- meant that the People were mostly filing him under some other label than “human”. Charles was a Speaker, or soon-to-be-adopted, or a patient; to the People he had met. Charles would have worried more about his associates? Carers? Friends?’ inability to perceive him as the same species as the other humans they’d met, apart from the fact that, well, he had also met those humans, and even before the whole genocide and torture thing, he would not have felt pleased if anyone had found a similarity between him and them.

Charles shivered, and dragged the blanket over the back of the chair around his shoulders. He had never wanted to be like Cain, however much Kurt had tried to beat him into being competitive with his stepbrother. Never wanted to make himself stronger by weakening others. Charles broke off that line of thought, sharply and concentrated on his breathing, on getting comfortable in the chair again. He thought the level of medical monitoring had diminished since Medic Frost had given him the wristcom; but if his vital signed dipped to close to panic or physical distress, Charles could always count on at least one person dropping by to check on him. He sighed, warmly, at the thought. Sometimes, he could admit to himself, it was very pleasant, to be looked after.

The People’s opinions of the Markos and the FAC team that Charles had become aware of were… interesting. Jeannis thought that they were sick; diseased or stupid. Charles tried to find it heartening to reflect how much the incomprehension displayed her innocence of suffering. It would have been easier if he hadn’t heard her plotting- with Logan- various ways they could kill every human responsible for Charles’s suffering, without upsetting him. Logan was fairly calm, but he still clearly had no moral problem with wiping them out; they only thing that seemed to worry him, going by the things he had said to Charles, was the consequences; that the wider groups of humans might object forcefully- “Or some stupid _mwelp_ like that.” He hadn’t translated or explained what _mwelp_ actually meant; but his tone had really been enough.

Medic Frost did not comment on the other humans; and Charles felt strangely unwilling to ask. 

_-Charles-_  
 _-?-_ he sent back to Medic Frost, politely.  
 _-You’ve got the door open again, I see.-_ Wry amusement and something that might have been affection laced her mental words. A lifetime of dealing with people who resented or feared his telepathy shaped Charles’ knee jerk response.  
 _Sorry. I can shut it again if-_ He began to apologise hastily, before Frost interrupted, briskly.  
 _-Don’t apologise_ again _, Charles. It is useful; now I can tell you that you’re going to have a visitor soon, without resorting to the wristcom._ -  
 _-?-_ Charles was curious. He hadn’t been warned about visitors before, so why-

 _-The debate over your adoption has adjourned. The Ship Master is adjudicator; he’s coming to see you.-_ Charles wasn’t sure about the odd, anticipatory glee he could read; perhaps she was just glad the talking was all over. One thing the People were all very fond of, it seemed, was _talking_. Strange, when Charles considered that they all had some degree of telempathy.  
 _-Who got me?-_ he said, at last.  
 _-The Ship Master will talk about that.-_ Emma said, and broke contact, politely. Charles blinked, for a moment, and then went to the cupboard in the wall where Sean had begun to stash Charles’s thicker shipsuits. He’d really prefer his meeting with the commander of the ship sheltering him and absolute leader of the People on Sand to involve clothing.

Clothed, he became aware he was hungry again, and so he went to the feeder, dialled the soup he remembered from his first waking safe in the People’s care, retrieved the bowl and sat back on his comfy chair. He had no idea what Medic Frost would consider “soon” but considering that everybody had been talking for hours; he was sure the Ship Master- who he had never actually met, only heard of- would want to take some kind of a break before- Charles became aware of someone approaching his door, and the shape, the _feel_ of the mind drawing closer to his personal sanctuary, made Charles drop his spoon into the soup bowl with a clatter.

The mind moving towards him was _human._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger!
> 
>  
> 
> Because I am evil..................


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ship Master comes to dicuss the adoption process with the Human in his sickbay.

Charles blinked; and then, very carefully, put his bowl of soup aside. He stared at the door, cracked open, and pondered alerting Frost or Logan. He caught himself in time; surely this man- for the human tapping on the door was male, he could tell- surely he was here, in the Quarters, the most secure dwelling the People had on Sand, in the ship, because he was allowed to be here? Logan’s assurances about the levels of security and alertness the People usually employed had kept Charles calm in the face of the knowledge that the people who tortured him were alive and free and waking about not a hundred miles away.  
Yet who could this man be? Charles eyed the taller human doubtfully. He was lean, with short-cut hair, sharp features and no beard. He was wearing a ship suit of the same design that Charles was, except he had a number of buttons or pins on one shoulder. 

Slowly, Charles rose to his bare feet, and looked at the other man straight in his fierce green-grey eyes. Absently he noted that the other man had shoes, and tried not to feel disgruntled about that.  
“Hello?” Charles said, tentatively, and swallowed. The other frowned, briefly.  
“I’m Erik. Ship Master.” He said, curtly, and Charles’ mouth fell open. A deeper scowl creased the other man’s sharp features, and Charles tried to hide his reflexive flinch by stepping back towards his chair.   
“Frost didn’t tell you that I was adopted.” Erik said, flatly.  
“Um.” Charles said. “No. Sorry?” he stepped backwards again, and nearly fell as the chair seat hit the back of his knees.

“Damnit.” Erik said. “Sit back down, I’ll get another chair.” Charles folded himself back up, and fought down his urge to ask questions. This man was the Ship Master; the ultimate leader of the group of the People who had taken him in. He probably expected respect, at the least, from his subordinates.  
“I kept out of the humans' sight, because we didn’t want to explain how I got here when we were busy playing harmless natives. I didn’t realise no one enlightened you when you arrived.”  
“I don’t think- I was quite unwell, Medic Frost tells me.” Charles said, hastily. “I probably wouldn’t have been able to take it in.”  
“ Frost has a strange sense of humour.” Erik said, unfolding another chair and sitting in it. Charles nodded. “Logan, too.” His smile was wry. Charles blinked and nodded again. “Or- I was adopted young- it might not have come to mind, as a factor.”  
“Ah.” Charles said. A short silence grew.

Charles decided to risk breaking it   
“I- Medic Frost said the, the debate had concluded?” Charles said, softly.  
“Eventually.” Erik said, ruefully. “You’re a popular man, Doctor Charles Xavier. I think everyone wanted to have a word with me about you. ”  
“Sorry.” Charles said, apologetically. He dropped his gaze. Erik sighed.  
“It’s not your fault. I have some questions to ask you before we can decide the best fit. Just, well, please remember your poor old Ship Master the next time you decide to be heroic and charming, yes?”  
“You can’t be that much older than me.” Charles said, slightly randomly. He picked at a loose thread in his shipsuit pants.

“We think it works out to around thirty five terran standard years.” Erik said, quietly. Charles looked up, questioningly.   
“As I said, I was adopted young. And ship time makes it hard to calculate, anyway.”  
“Can I ask- how did it happen?” Charles said. “The First Alien Contact Team couldn’t find any records of interactions or contact with the People-“  
“My ship was raided.” The Ship Master said, curtly. “Not long after, the man- the group who took my ship, took a small ship of the People.”  
“Oh.” Charles said, and wondered what he could possibly say to that.  
“My- they killed my family, but they kept me and some of the other children, to sell, probably.”

Erik’s voice was calm, quiet, level, but the emotions boiling off him were anything but. Charles winced and slammed up more shields.   
“The People tracked down their attackers, and stormed the ship.” Erik said, and the flare of feelings dimmed, slightly. Charles breathed out. Erik tilted his head, curiously, and continued. “Logan was the first through the bulkhead doors. His face when he was surrounded by a bunch of frantic children- it was a rare sight.” Erik smiled, slightly.  
“And so they adopted you?” Charles said. Erik nodded.  
“My family was dead, and they had no real way of tracking more distant relatives, even if they wanted to.” Erik shrugged. Charles nodded. He got the feeling Erik didn;t want to talk more about it.

“Now.” Erik said, and his eyes gleamed. “You.” Charles gulped again.   
“M-me?”  
“Do you have any relatives actually worthy of the name?” Erik said. “Because-“  
“I- I have a younger sister.” Charles said, hastily. Erik blinked. “A-and-, well, Tony’s not blood, but he’s like a brother to me, sort of. I’ve known him since we were both young.”  
“Heart family.” Erik murmured, almost to himself. "Of _course._ "   
“I’m sorry, what?” Charles said, puzzled.  
“Families of the heart and families of blood.” Erik said. “The two main kinds of kinship tie.”  
“O-oh.” Charles said, leaning forwards, in fascination. His fingers itched for a smart pen and his docupad. The Ship Captain smiled, slightly.

“It’s important, because adopting you means adopting them, too.” Erik said, gravely. “Unless they formally petition otherwise.” Charles nodded, still longing for that pen. “Now, do you think that’s likely?” His gaze sharpened..  
“I- I don’t know.” Charles said, flustered. “I- well, would telling them about my adoption be a good thing? They’ll be bound to ask why, and-“  
“You don’t want them to know?” Erik said, sharply. Charles paused.  
“I’m not ashamed, or, or anything, but I thought- surely the whole, um, nanite secrecy thing would be…” Charles trailed off. Erik was staring.  
“Frost told me.” He murmured, almost to himself. “I didn’t believe it was this bad.” 

“Charles Xavier.” He said, briskly. “Why do you think half the families and clans on my ship are this close” he held up a demonstrational finger and thumb “To popping claws over your adoption?”  
“I- well, telepaths are, are useful?” Charles said. “And, um, I have to be adopted to keep Jeannis out of trouble?” He shifted, awkwardly. “I know she didn’t mean any harm, she was just excited at meeting another telepath-“  
“I know Jeannis.” Erik said, smiling. It made an amazing difference to his face, that smile. “She’s part of my family here. Her mother’s my foster-sib.”  
“Oh.”  
“But, Charles, that’s only part of the reason.” Erik said, clearly and steadily. 

“They- we- want you not just because of Jeannis, or because you are useful, or even because we should be grateful, but because you are _you.”_ Erik was staring at him fiercely again. Charles felt small, and hot, and speechless. He stared at his hands for a moment, frantically wondering what to say.  
“It’s a work in progress, I see.” Erik said, and sighed.  
“What is?”  
“Convincing you.” Erik said. “That means; hmm, well, Engineering’s out.”  
“Engineering?”  
“All the clan off shoots and houses and families put together one claim.” Erik said, smiling that wry smile again. “Probably in the hope I’d see the chance to avoid paperwork and so on, and leap at it.”

“I’m sorry for the extra work.” Charles said, on auto pilot. Erik gave him a crooked smile.  
“Don’t be. As Adjudicator; and Ship Master, I can’t put a claim in myself, you see. Jeannis is annoyed about that. Otherwise...” he trailed off, teasingly. Inexplicably, Charles felt himself blush. Erik chuckled. “So I’ve some to talk about the various claims, and see how you feel; before I make my decision.” He left an inviting pause.  
“I- what’s the difference between a clan and a family?” Charles said, cautiously. Erik blinked at him.  
“It’s the number of generations you have to count back before you have a shared ancestor, or shared adoptive ancestor. Blood family terms, mostly.” His lips pursed in calculation.  
“Oh.” Charles said, thoughtfully. “What order does it go in?”

Erik tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, working it out.  
“Ascending. Family- that’s about four generations. House- more than four, mostly, and then the clans are when the kinship tie ancestor are much further away; as many as twenty generations, sometimes.” Erik shrugged “I’ve been learning about it since I was adopted, it gets more complicated, but that’s the basics.”  
“Thank you.” Charles said. “I’ll try to remember.”   
“Good- now, do you want to take notes, for any of this?”  
“Yes, _please_ Charles said. Erik grinned, and handed him an inkpen.  
“The notepads should be in the drawer.” He gestured, and the metal drawer slid out, smoothly. Charles stared.

“I- was that telekinesis?” he said. As a talent, it was incredibly rare. Suddenly. Charles thought, it the tale of Erik’s raised ship took on a new, disturbing light. If the raiders had been looking for talented children… Erik gave a slightly guilty shuffle.  
“Not quite. Metal. I move metal.” He said, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I-“  
“I can see there’s a lot to learn.” Charles said, briskly, as he fished in the drawer for a pad. “Shall we-?”  
“Right. So. House Grey made a well argued claim-“ Charles uncapped his pen, and started to take notes about his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Erik's a human adopted by the People. Yes, I tried not to reveal that before now. Sorry. 
> 
> Mostly because to me Erik is always at least little angry about something, usually his childhood's end, and/or is a mutant, so... well, given the Pewople's adopting habits, it just fit.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship Master and Telepath finish their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have just realised, thes chapters have been posted out of sequence. The ones with the meeting up, they should come after the end of this one. Oops?

“…And that’s about all of them.” Erik said, some time later. Charles blinked.  
“When.. when you said, everyone wanted to put a claim in, you really weren’t exaggerating, were you?” he said, staring at the pile of scribbled notes. Erik chuckled and went to refill Charles’s cup with astal; his own favourite drink, after he filled his own.  
“Oh, no, thank you- I, this is-“ Charles said, faltering. He flushed. Outwardly Erik made no response, inwardly Erik repressed a sigh. _Skittish_ , Logan and Frost had called him; they had not been exaggerating. He hoped Charles would settle, at least a little, before the Fleet arrived; and more serious decisions had to be made. Or before the humans- who had been suspiciously quiet, these last few days- forced them into making some kind of definite and noticeably tech-savvy stand.

“Ship Master?” Charles said, quietly. Erik re focused.  
“Sorry. So, do you have any thoughts, about these claims?” Charles blinked again.  
“Thoughts?” he said, carefully. “I… I don’t know if- should I have a preference?”  
“About some things in life, certainly.” Erik murmured. “I realise I just dumped a load of information on you; I was wondering if you had any particular interests that made you a better match with one family than another."  
“Um.” Charles said, thoughtfully. _Job interview._ He told himself. _Pretend it’s a job interview._ He could do that. “I’m a telepath, that can be useful-“  
“We’re talking about what you like, what interests you. Not about being useful.” Erik said, mildly. Charles looked anxious. “Being a telepath is part of you, isit? That you like?” Charles nodded. 

“So.” Erik concluded. “What else do you enjoy doing?”  
“Well, I’m a teacher, by profession- a university lecturer in-“ Charles began. Erik leant forwards, sharply interested.  
“A teacher? Of the young?” Erik said. Now there was something interesting.  
“Young adults, mostly.” If you could call them adults, given what some of them got up to, at times. Charles wasn't sure that was entirely accurate.  
“You enjoy that?” Charles smiled, and nodded.  
“I love- I teach genetics, the study of acquired traits, and related subjects- I love it when a student finally _understands_ what we’ve been talking about, what I’m trying to help them learn.” Erik grinned.

Charles leant towards him, eyes sparkling in his pale face and he continued, eagerly  
“ Or; you know, sometimes, the shared enthusiasm, both my colleagues and the students; when we really get down to it, finding out more about how and why and who we are- and the research, of course-“ He stopped, abruptly. _Too much enthusiasm._ “Sorry. Rattling on. I like chess, of course, and keeping an eye on my sister’s studies, and then there’s-“  
“If you like teaching.” Erik said, hoping he could interrupt before Charles could drift away from talking about something that was important to him, into a froth of small talk; “House Grey has many youngsters.”

“House Grey?”  
“I have links there myself.” Erik said, musingly. “You remember, Jeannis is of House Grey, and part of my family here.”  
“Oh?” Charles said, carefully. Erik smiled again. Oh, but the man was wily.  
“I have a small family, shipside, for one of the People; just Medics Sean and Frost; Jeannis and-“  
“That’s how Sean knew I was cold.” Charles said, to himself.

 

“Among other things; he does know a little more than most about the differences in our bodies to others of the People. Because of me.” Erik said. “He’s a good man.” He wasn’t going to tell Charles that he looked good in Erik’s cast offs. That was something Erik hoped the telepath would not find out until he had settled into his new family; whoever they were.  
“I- he gave me first aid.” Charles said.  
“What?” Erik’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. He jerked himself out of his odd mood.  
“Logan’s patrol.” Charles said, and picked up a docupad, absently. “After Cain- After.” He stopped talking, for a long moment.  
“Charles?” Erik said, softly. Charles swung his gaze from the docupad, which he had not switched on, back to the Ship Master.

“Sorry.” He tried to smile; Erik’s expression told Charles he had not been completely successful.  
“I- as someone with his own share of bad memories, I can tell you- it gets better, Charles.” Erik said. “Particularly when the People are involved.” He smiled. Charles gnawed at his lower lip.  
“I didn’t mean to get anyone involved.” Charles said. “I just tried to do the right thing. For once.” He looked up, suddenly. “And, it’s not as if I was a, a hero, or something.” His grip tightened on the docupad and the casing creaked, faintly.

“Frost’s medical reports tell me different things.” Erik said, neutrally. Charles’ mouth twisted.  
“I- I only didn’t talk because they weren’t very good at it. They broke me, but they didn’t know.” He said, finally. Erik looked at Charles, startled. “If they’d.” Charles ducked his head, as he thought about it. He swallowed, feeling ill. But the Ship Master deserved the truth. “If they’d kept on; waited for me to wake up one more time, I’d have talked. I mean, I know _now_ that might have helped, because misinformation-“   
“Stop.” Erik said, firmly. He leant over and began to pry the docupad from Charles’ clenched fingers. 

“One.” Erik said, to the top of Charles’ bent head. “Everybody starts talking if you can hurt them slow enough and long enough.” Charles shivered. Erik placed the rescued docupad aside and rubbed the bloodless fingers, soothingly. “Two.” He continued. “If they had kept doing… that to you, they would have killed you.” Erik thought for a moment. “In fact, they did kill you; without the nannies you would have died.”  
“But-“ Charles looked up.  
“Three.” Erik cut across him, inexorably. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for.” Charles’ mouth opened. “Nothing, d’you hear?” Erik said. Charles’s mouth closed. “You didn’t owe _us_ anything; but you warned Frost.” Erik breathed in, and tried to find the right words. He kept his hand on Charles’s wrist.

“Even if you had talked; even if you’d known all our defences and devices; that would have been enough; that you warned us about your… about the other humans’ intentions.” Erik said. Charles looked at the light in Erik’s grey-green eyes, felt Erik’s sincerity through the touch on his wrist , and wondered.  
A low tone issued from his wristcomp, before Charles could think of making a response. Startled, Erik flicked the button.  
“Report.”  
“Observation, Ship Master. A new human ship has just dropped out of jump in-system. Engergy readings indicate it’s probably heavily armed.” Erik frowned. Charles tensed. “Patching the info through to you now.”  
“And?” Erik said, as grainy one colour lines began to flicker on the tiny screen.  
“There’s a lot of chatter over at their base; Obs' first impressions are that they weren’t expecting this.” The tinny voice continued. The speaker sounded vaguely familiar.

“Hold on.” Charles said, suddenly. He reached for Erik’s wrist, turning it for a better view of the screen on his compscreen.  
“Do you recognise the ship?” Erik said, tensely. “Do you know what this means?” Charles squinted.  
“I think… I _think_ that looks like a Stark Industries ship.” Charles said, slowly.  
“Stark industries?” Erik said, urgently. “Who, why are they here?”  
“Ah- I think that’s one of Tony’s ships.” Charles said, slowly.  
“Tony your heart brother?” Erik said. Charles couldn’t identify the odd tone in Erik’s voice.  
“Yes.” Charles said. “Tony Stark.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper is amazing. Charles meets some of his adoptive family,and the author writes a lot of fluff.

Pepper reached for another pile of flimsies, and slapped them down in full view of the comscreen. The FAC officer and the Marko Industries rep both flinched. Tony leant back in his support chair, giving off a deliberately ostentatious air of relaxed boredom. He grinned at Raven, reassuringly.  
“Keep calm, and smile.” He said, barely moving his lips. Raven turned to look at him, startled.  
“But…”  
“Trust me. Pepper’s got it _all_ under control.” He said, lazily. “We’ll talk our way onto the surface soon enough.”

Pepper pointed out some more documentation, speaking crisply and politely. Reluctantly the FAC officer nodded; while the businessman went pale. Tony bit back a satisfied grin.  
“And then we can look for, for Charles?” Raven said, eyes gleaming brightly.  
“Yep.” Tony said. “And we’re gonna find him, because he is just not allowed to be not ok.”  
“And then we can yell at him for worrying us.” Raven said, and bit her lip.  
“Thank you, gentlemen.” Pepper said. “We’ll begin descent shortly.” She added, turning her head to speak to Raven and Tony. The comscreen went blank.

“And... Kurt?” Raven said, in a small voice. She was still afraid of the man who was her father when it suited him. Tony put a protective arm around her shoulders.  
“Kurt’s _history._ ” he said, quietly. “I have a controlling interest in Marko Industries, now, remember?”  
“Cain sent a message, says he’s unwell.” Pepper said, calmly. “Tony’s going to deal with Cain.”  
“How... what?”  
“Oh, I was thinking of firing him.” Tony said, eyes glittering with glee at finally being allowed off the leash in Cain Marko’s vicinity. “You know. Unsatisfactory conduct, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah?”   
“Yeah.” Tony’s manic grin flickered out. “But mostly, we need to start the search for Charles soon as we can.”  
“I asked the FAC man; he said the natives have withdrawn for one of their periods of ritual seclusion.” Pepper said, frowning slightly. “But they still have a window of communication; apparently one of them appears in the meeting house every few days to ask about Charles.”  
“He said that?” Tony narrowed his eyes in thought. “So, they know he’s missing too.”  
“Yes- I told him to inform them that the next time that happens; some more- some of Charles’s family are here.” Pepper said. “So with luck, they’ll be expecting you.” 

 

\----------------------

Grey, head of House Grey, hugged himself in delight. He glanced around, and then, noting who was present, allowed himself a small but dignified dance of triumph.  
“Cousin?” Angel said, mildly surprised, and hopeful.  
“We _got_ him!” Grey said, pleased. “We will shortly have a new member of the family, my dear.”  
“Ship Master gave our adoption claim priority?” Angel said, gleefully. “What form of kinship bond?” She tipped her head back and began calculating the various ties possible, and their implications.

“He has no living parents worth the name.” Grey said. “And I... I have often wanted another son.” He smiled, slow and deep. Angel rumbled a pleased sound out into the air. She stood, and seized his wrist in her tail.  
“Come on, come on!” she said, pulling at Grey, urgently. “If you’re telling me in public, it’s official, now let’s go visit our new baby cousin!”  
“He’s not a child.” Grey said, but he allowed himself to be moved. “I have spoken with Medic Frost; and we must all know, Charles is not… altogether well, or happy.

 

“Well, no real surprises _there._ ” Angel said, but she slowed down a little. “I know- well, we all know he was hurt, by his- by the humans. I won’t forget.” Grey relaxed.  
“We must go gently.” He said, as he fell into step with his cousin. “And…. Prepare ourselves for further ties, if we’re lucky.”  
“Further ties? Does he have children?” Grey shook his head. His ears flicked, amused. “A sister. And a heart brother.” Angel hissed with happiness.  
“And we get them all! Ha!”  
“They might choose other ties.” Grey said, mildly. Her face fell. “Come, cousin. Let’s find him a present, and then go a-visiting.”

 

\-------------

Charles wiped his slightly sweaty palms against his trousers, and took another slow breath. He was meeting his new- the People who were going to adopt him. He hoped rather desperately that he would be judged acceptable to them. He knew they’d probably do it anyway- House Grey was Jeannis’ house, after all, but Charles really, really wanted to be at least liked by his new furry relatives. Charles tucked his hand into his armpits, and curled up in his chair.  
“This is not going to go well.” He whispered to himself.

 _-Stop that.-_ The medic’s mental voice was cool, but there was an edge to it.  
 _-I’m sorry, Medic Frost.-_ he sent, humbly, in response.  
 _-Stop that, too.-_ Amused exasperation was accompanied by a gentle mental nudge. _-They will_ adore _you, Charles. Now close the door and calm down.-_ Sighing, Charles closed the door, and was instantly encased in thick, muffled silence as the telepathic shielding on his room engaged. Heart in his throat, he waited.

 

The door chimed, politely, informing him it was about to open. It slid back to reveal Grey, and his cousin Angel. Charles gulped. _Family._ They stepped over the threshold, and the door slid closed behind them.  
“Ah- Hello.” He said, nervously. Angel smiled at him.  
“Charles! My new son!” Grey said, and swept Charles into a gentle hug, immediately.  
“Brace yourself, cousin. He’s a little over excited.” Angel said, laughing.  
“I- um, yes.” Charles said, more-or-less at random. He could feel how pleased Grey was that Chares was to be his son, part of his family. Grey was broadcasting his emotions so loudly, it was a little disconcerting.

Angel cleared her throat. Grey stopped hugging Charles, putting his hands on Charles’ shoulders and gazing intently at him.  
“I am sorry if I startled you, son.” Grey said. “But the truth is, we are very pleased to have you as one of us.” Charles nodded, uncertainly. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak.  
“He says he saw you first.” Angel said, amused.  
“Well, you, I think you were both there at my first meeting, weren’t you?” Charles said, finally. “I- can I offer you a drink, um, refreshments..?”  
“I would like a little _sokal_ , please.” Grey said, and Angel murmured a similar request. Charles moved to the dispenser. Grey and Angel moved to the prearranged chairs.

Charles was pleased to note his hands had stopped trembling by the time he was handing out the drinks. Angel smiled at him, and her tail coiled around his ankle in affection encouragement has he sat.  
“Should your feet be that cold?” she said, faintly worried. Charles smiled.  
“They’re fine. But, yes, um, usually, we- humans- wear socks and shoes.”  
“Even indoors?” Grey said, leaning forwards, intrigued. Charles nodded. Angel sipped her drink. Charles was only drinking water. Various of her family would want to know what he liked eating; this was no help.

“ I know you are not a child.” Grey said, quietly. “And that your birth father died.” He made no mention of the Markos, and Charles was grateful for that. “But, I called you son, and that was not done lightly.”  
“I- I’ll try to deserve it.” Charles said. Instantly Grey shook his head, fondly.  
“I mean, son, that you should never hesitate in coming to me.” He leant forwards, and put out a hand. Charles took it, absently. “As a son should to his father; in need, in curiosity, in happiness or sorrow- I- _we_ are here, to share it with you.”  
“And if it’s in need or sorrow, rest assured we’ll be popping claws and making notes on who gets sliced and who gets diced.” Angel said, and smiled with all of her teeth.

Charles blinked, suddenly and strangely reminded of Tony.  
“Yes.” He said, softly. “I- I see.” He swallowed, and continued on, honestly. “I- I’ve never- my father died when I was small, and I, I don’t think I know how to be a son, human or one of the People… but I can learn!” Charles ducked his head. Grey squeezed his hand more tightly, the prickle of retracted claws reminding Charles of his new father’s reassuringly non-human nature, and then released him. He felt as if he’d been dying of thirst, and, instead of being offered a glass of water, he’d been taken to a river. A freshwater _ocean._ He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Angel give Grey a prod with her tail.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, cousin.” Grey said, sitting up. “The Ship Master gave me to understand that you have other family, among the humans?” he sounded… hopeful. Charles blinked, and nodded.  
“My sister; Raven- she’s a shape shifter, you know-“  
“A shifter?” Angel said, delighted. “How incredible!” Charles smiled. “She’s blue.”  
“All over?” He nodded.   
“But scales, not fur.” He added. “I don’t know; maybe she’ll be able to shift to looking like one of the People if she learns enough about anatomy.” Angel looked delighted, and Charles relaxed. He did so worry about Raven being accepted, at times. Humans were not always kind to those who looked visibly different.

“And... a heart brother?” Grey said, slyly.  
“I think of Tony as a brother, yes.” Charles said. “We got to know each other during our studies- he’s very clever-“  
“Does he specialise in his wisdom?”  
“Not sure you can call someone who forgets to eat as often as Tony does _wise_.” Charles smiled reminiscently, “But he is an engineering _wizard._ ” Angel nodded. Grey smirked. “Of course, now he has Pepper to remind him to eat and wear a clean shirt, and so, on, he’s got a lot better.”  
“Pepper?” 

“His, ah, helper, in his work. And girlfriend.” Charles said.   
“And you trust these people.” Grey observed. Angel cocked her head, curious.  
“Absolutely.” Charles nodded. Grey sat back, seemingly satisfied. Charles wondered again about the in-system presence of the Stark Industries ship. Had Tony decided to send a rescue party?  
“Well, should they choose to formalise their ties to the People, that they have through you-” Grey said, gravely.  
“We still get first claim!” Angel said, and they both laughed. Charles laughed too.

“Well, we must give you your welcome-gift.” Grey said, quietly. “This is traditional.” He added, as Charles opened his mouth.   
“I- Oh.” He said, a little startled. He hadn’t expected _presents_ , on top of being taken into House Grey’s family. “I’m sorry- should I have-?” Grey shook his head, smiling.  
“Put out your hands.” Angel prompted, softly. Charles did so, hurriedly. Grey smiled, and closed Charles’s fingers around something small, and metallic.  
“It’s a code chip.” Angel said, as Charles looked puzzled. “Slide it into your wristcom, and it will guide you to our family quarters; and the doors will let you in.”

“You gave me the key to the door.” Charles said, wonderingly  
“Of course.” Grey said. Charles stared, indescribably moved. Grey moved out of his chair, and drew Charles up to stand as well, before folding him into a fierce hug. Charles put his head on Grey’s shoulder, and breathed. He felt Grey’s hand card through his hair.  
“We’ll always know where you are.” Grey said, voice rumbling through his body. Angel rose to embrace them both. Charles felt his eyes start to sting.  
“And we won’t ever let you fall.” Angel said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felt like taking a break from Token. Worry not, normal service will resume there tommorow.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had this chapter just sitting here (I put it up before, but in the wrong place) so I just polished it and now it's back up in the right place.
> 
> Wow, Deep Space Mining needs a good editing before I do any more with it...

Tony stared at the big cats. Ok, so they were all big, mean kitties with claws. He could take them. He was Iron Man. He had repulsors. Admittedly, right now, he was Iron Man without a suit, because he wanted to find out precisely whose furry asses he was going to be kicking along with both of the Markos’. 

They might be taller than he was, but Tony was meaner. Since Charles had (possibly, only possibly) died, Tony was way meaner. He eyed the one closest to him in height, and considered growling. Raven tugged on his arm  
“Tony! Tony, please don’t piss them off.” She said, anxiously.

“I’m not pissing them off. They’re pissing me off, all this standing around and staring and-“  
“Tony, please. We have to find out what happened to Charles.” Her pretty blonde mask looked close to tears. He took a deep breath, and sighed it out, slowly. 

“You’re right.” She gave him a watery eyed smile. Charles was not only her brother; was virtually the only family, and certainly the only security Raven had ever known. Tony gave her a quick, one armed hug, still staring at the cats.

“This must be tough for you, I know. I promise to behave right now. But after we find out about Charles, I make no promises. Anyone here hurt a hair on his head, I’m gonna find out just how many ways there are of skinning a cat.” The shorter cat snorted. Tony glared. “What, you got an opinion there, big feller?”

Meaningfully, the cat strolled across to the transputer and tapped it to on. “Ah.”  
The cat said something and waited for the translation. The transputer rendered it as  
“Favourable invitation. Designation: Logan berry.” There was a pause and then the cat tried again. This was translated as “Logan. Fruit berry. Logan. Reservoir technology.” He looked pissed off. Tony was glad his mood could be spread so easily.

“Hi. Pleased to meet you. I’m Tony Stark and this is Raven. She’s Charles’ sister.” The transputer ran that through its innards and burped out some sounds Tony fervently hoped were vaguely related to what he had said. He hated not using his own tech. Stark Industries translation software was the best in the galaxy. But he’d not been allowed to bring his suit. Tony’s fingers itched for a screwdriver. He restrained himself. Fixing other people’s stuff was sometimes frowned on, Pepper said.

The other cats introduced themselves: Frozen and, apparently, Sean. One was a fruit, one was a temperature and one was a Sean. Alien names. Go figure. Frozen, was white and silvery, a sleek and elegant kitty who had clearly got all the cream, ever. 

The other cat, Sean, was slender, nervous and ginger. He kept fidgeting and glancing between his superiors in what would have been an amusingly anxious way, if Tony had been interested in being amused. He wasn’t, so him simply noted the possible weakness and waited.

“Hi, I’m Raven, I’m Charles sister.” Tony glanced at her. Hadn’t he said that already? “We’re here because we’re worried about Charles. Charles Xavier. We can’t find him. The Markos- the other humans they said he just vanished. Have you seen him? Can you think of anywhere we could look? Please?” Her hands were tightly clenched together. 

Tony wanted to take hold of her, in reassurance, but he didn’t. No point in appearing more vulnerable. Tony hated vulnerability, both in himself and in his friends. That’s why he always tried to keep them close, and safe. It took the transputer a long time to render Raven’s speech into kittycat; but when it did, the reactions were… strange. 

Sean made a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh. Tony narrowed his eyes at the lanky kid; he’d better not be finding the idea of a missing Charles funny. Frozen blinked. And Loganberry relaxed, and sat down, with the patient air of a cat prepared to wait until Tony looked away before pouncing. 

Frozen spoke, and her voice was just as smooth and creamy as the rest of her. The transpute rendered her little speech as:  
“Greet you. To be calmly low. Future needle artesian.” This was less attractive, and less helpful. Tony couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong with the transpute’s vocab banks and voice recognition. At least it made Raven smile, faintly, so he didn’t complain. For now, anyway. 

“Yeah. Hi.” Tony said, brightly. “We’re looking for one Charles Xavier, maybe you’ve seen him? Human telepath. Short guy, blue eyes, kinda irritatingly cute?” There was a long pause, filled with a lot of silent staring. Tony undid a lot of expensive dental work grinding his teeth discreetly. The door opened. Tony ignored it in favour of staring at the other three cats. 

Then someone said, lightly;  
“Cute? Why Tony, I’ve never known you thought of me like that.” All three cats looked up, and they looked… annoyed. The speaker continues, cheerily: “I feel so… so tainted, suddenly” Tony knew that voice. He _knew_ it like he knew his suit’s blueprints. Raven shrieked.

As one, Tony and Raven wheeled around, and they were both gaping like fools, like frozen deer or startled dogs. Tony didn’t care. He stared at the short, freckled, blotchy, blue eyed _idiot_ leaning in the doorway, visibly healthy, and, from the way he grinned at the whole damn room, happy. 

Charles. Charles Francis Xavier. Charles is alive. There was a blur from beside Tony, as Raven shot past him, wrapping Charles in her arms and hugging him so tight, Tony was pretty sure he heard ribs creaking. He breathed out, steadily, relaxing and he absolutely did not have tears in his eyes. He was _fine_. It was a dusty planet, okay? 

Tony rubbed his eyes, and then, abruptly gave up caring for his image. Charles was here, and he was alright. He moved towards the sibling hug. Charles and Raven both immediately wrapped an arm round him and for about five minutes, they all hung together and just breathed. 

It’s pretty nice. Relaxing. Tony hasn’t felt relaxed, since Raven came to him and asked him when he’d last heard from Charles. Before that, even. Since before Charles told him he was going to work for Marko Industries, really. He’d thank god, if he were a religious man. 

Logan berry and Frozen both made some kind of noise the transpute can’t understand, and it started bleeping, sadly. Tony’s never one to ignore technology in distress, and actual sentient beings in distress always made him itch, so he pulled out his pocket screwdrivers, and got to work. The transpute sputtered and snapped a few sparks defensively. Tony’s got a way with reluctant tech, though- genius, here- and pretty soon it was purring under his touch like a supermodel.

“What happened, Charles? I was so worried. Did you just forget the time?” Raven half-joked. Charles wanted to laugh. He’s been “missing” according to the Markos, for a month, at least. Forgot the time? He wishes he could forget.  
“Yeah. Too busy making new friends?” Tony’s voice was light, but his mind was not. He was worried, still. Charles smiled faintly. Dear Tony.  
“No. No, I didn’t forget the time.” He murmured, quietly. 

It’s so hard. He doesn’t want to tell Raven the details, but she needed to know something.  
“So tell me! Us,” Raven corrected herself, glancing at Tony apologetically. He swapped out the heads on his multi tool, and shrugged. Charles took a deep breath.  
“Well. You know some of the laws on dealing with non-human sentient species?” Best to start off slowly. Edge into the worst news gently, as it were.  
“Yeah, that’s why Cain hauled you off in the first place. Told you it was a bad idea.” Tony grumbled.

“Well, Cain and Kurt and Stryker got a little impatient, and were-“ Tony cut him off.  
“Stryker? Him too? Damnit, I’ll have his job as well. And his credit rating. I own Marko Industries now, did I say? Couldn’t get here without.” He gave the transpute a vicous jab with his screwdriver, and it squeaked. “Should have done this years ago, but you said-“  
“Tony-“ Charles felt himself grow tenser and tenser, trying to explain. 

“Charles.” Tony’s voice was determined, and kind. “What aren’t you saying? What did those assholes try to do?”  
“They were going to get rid of the problem.” He said, tightly. Tony cursed.  
“What, they were going to tidy out of existence an entire species?” Charles didn’t answer. Raven paled. “You’re kidding me? _Genocide?_ And they thought; what you’d go along with this? You wouldn’t notice?” His voice rose in volume; until the last word was practically a shout.

“Well, they did ask me to consider it, but I think they all knew I’d say no.” Charles’ voice was very quiet. Tony frowned. Kurt and Cain were not people who take “No” very well. Nor would they be stupid enough to leave witnesses behind.  
“And then what happened?” He asked, very quietly. Charles shrank into himself. He folded his arms around his middle.

 _Oh no._ Tony’s eyes narrowed in realisation. That was a very bad sign, with Charlie. He looked again at Charles sitting so stiffly, hands braced against his knees. He shared a equally horrified glance with Raven.   
“Charles? Tony said, in a gentle, worried tone. He wanted to be angry with the right people, not with Charles. Never with Charles, who looked so pale, suddenly.

“They hadn’t done their homework on the People. They thought I could supply tactical information. They attempted to persuade me.” He flashed a faint, strained grin at the three cats, sitting there patiently-. “And they, they…” Charles’s voice shook, and he broke off. 

Charles felt sweat break out on his forehead, under his arms. The Master Medic moved to crouch beside him, and took his pulse. Raven was weeping, hands to her mouth again. Charles felt Tony’s anger, his concern for Charles. It _hurt_. He was hurting them. He didn’t want to talk any more. Frost wrapped her arm- and her mind- around him, gently. 

Tony watched Frozen, the big white cat, tend to Charles and felt his fists clench. Charles was chalk white, and he was breathing too hard. Tony knew those signs. He knew them too well.  
“They hurt you.” His voice was flat. Charles looked at him from the protection of his big cat doctor’s care, and closed his eyes, briefly. Tony waited.

“Yes.” Charles’ voice was also flat. The two other cats shifted, restlessly.  
“How bad?” He still sounds so calm, Tony thinks. He’s impressed with his self control, a little. He wanted to smash things.  
“Tony-“ Charles wanted to scream. 

Frost’s mind soothed him, pushing threads of calm and reassurance into his tenuous grasp.  
“How. Bad?” Tony persisted. Charles flinched. Frost murmured something at him Tony didn’t catch. Charles shuts his eyes and breathed. In and out. He focused on the here and now. He is safe. Everyone here is a friend. He is fine. Just fine.

Then the cat looked up at Tony and remarked, in a calm voice, _in English_ ;  
“They almost killed him. First by interrogation, and then they abandoned him on the sands, unprotected. Charles would have died had Logan’s patrol not found him and brought him to me.” The world blanked out for a little while. 

“I am going to kill them all.” Tony said calmly, eventually. “They are all going to die screaming.” Raven nodded, fiercely. Logan nodded in approval, and Sean gave a little purring noise. He also mads the thumbs up sign; which made Tony blink.

“You speak very good English for a cat, by the way, ma’am.” Tony added, in an afterthought. “Thank you for helping Charles out, too.” Manners. His mom would be so proud. She nodded regally. Clearly she was used to gratitude. Maybe even worship.  
“Charles taught me. It is an interesting language.” 

Charles grinned weakly. Tony exhaled. He feels quite calm. It’s important to be calm around telepaths and their sisters. And giant, English speaking cats, too.  
“She’s also a telepath.” Charles murmured, apologetically. The cat nodded at him again. She was smiling a little.

“Oh. Now you tell me.” Tony mock grumbled, going for flippant. The atmosphere lessened by about 50Gs. “Sure, I see how it is. You want to keep all the good p-” Tony rambled on, grinning charmingly at the big white cat hugging Charles. Charles flushed. Sean- the ginger one- laughed. Logan glared at him, and he stopped, rapidly.  
“Tony? My baby sister is here. No Cat or pussy puns, if you please.” Now Charles sounded more like himself.

“Hey!” Raven said, indignantly.  
“But- Fine. Fine. No puns… Seriously, they all speak English?” Tony said.  
“Charles taught us” Logan rumbled.  
“So what was the transputer here for?” 

Tony kicked at it. Useless rubbish. It bleated at him, and rolled away, defensively. Right, he had to stop adding wheels to everything he repaired.  
“They wanted time to assess you both. The People are a bit protective, I’m afraid. I did try telling them you were my oldest and dearest friend and my little sister, but my judgement is considered a little suspect, I’m afraid.” Charles said wryly.

“Yeah, Charles trusts too easy, and don’t look after himself. So we felt we gotta check for him.” Logan. Frost smireds. With a set of teeth like hers, the effect was _remarkable._  
“You have the lowest steam tissues.” Sean spoke directly to Charles, mumbling slightly cryptically.   
_“What?”_ Raven said blankly. She moved to sit next to Charles, holding onto him in case he decided to vanish again.

“Self-esteem issues?” Tony asked. Sean nodded. 

_Brilliant._ Tony was torn between inner glee at how well these cats- _people_ , sorry, Charles- got Charles’s issues and inner rage at the Markos, who are responsible for so many of them. They tortured his best friend. Tony is not going to let that go. Ever.  
“Hey.” Charles protested the drift of Tony’s feelings, mildly.   
“I’m still going to kill them all. After I dismantle every single part of Kurt’s company.” 

They can’t die till he’s ruined everything they like about their lives, and he’s told them why.  
“I’m helping.” Raven added, firmly.  
“Did you say you’d bought Marko Industries?” Charles said, faintly. He didn’t want to think about killing. Tony will think better of it once he’s over the shock, Charles was sure. He looked at the Tony’s face, the tense line of his jaw. Well. Almost sure. 

Charles can stop him before he actually got around to shedding non metaphorical blood, probably. He leaned into his sister’s embrace. Frost leant against him from the other side. It felt a little confining, but safe. And warm. He blinked, rapidly, as his sight blurred slightly.

“Yup. Enough of it, anyway.” Tony said cheerfully. “Should have done it years ago. FAC said only FAC personnel or Marko employees were allowed on the planet, so. Figured if I owned the company, I could change that. Seemed easier than shooting everyone and landing anyway.”

“Pepper organised it all.” Raven grinned, viciously pleased. “Used a couple of proxies, including me. It was awesome.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Cain and Stryker plot. Badly.
> 
> Raven and Tony get to see some more of the Iron Flame.

The sun was, as ever on the dustball, hot. So was Kurt’s temper.  
“I told them, company employees only!” he snarled at Stryker, abandoning his coffee abruptly.  
“But they were company employees. Not FAC, but Marko Industries” Stryker said, wearily. “Or at least, company owners.” He added. Kurt turned purple.  
“Marko Industries is mine.” He insisted. “Stark’s got no business here!”

“Uh- Dad.” Cain said, staring in disbelief at his ‘puter. “Stark bought a controlling share in”-  
“What do you mean, he bought the company? He can’t- you can’t do that!” Kurt snarled at his son, shoving at him to get out of the way to star at the vidscreen. Cain glared at him. The company was Cain’s legacy; with it sold off he had less than nothing. He thought his Dad might have thought of that instead yelling about his life’s work.

“You can if you set up some proxies to hold some of the shares and you get a family member to play along. And you’ve more cash than half the solar system.” He said, bitterly, and turned back to the ‘puter screen. Stryker watched both of them with a mix of irritation and amusement.  
“But- but why?” Kurt’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’s fucking the brat?”

Cain shrugged. He didn’t think any decent man or woman would want a girl as freakish as Raven, but there was no accounting for tastes.  
“Maybe; but why’d _Tony Stark_ do this, even for a girl he’s hot for? You got to admit, he didn’t get where is through being _dumb_ when it comes down to business.”  
Stryker looked down at his personal screen, and swore.

“Tony _Stark_? I thought you said Xavier had no important friends?”  
“Boy didn’t.” Kurt was impatient. “They knew each other as kids, maybe, but-“  
“According to this, they went to college together.” Stryker snapped.

“Oh.” Cain shrugged. “Charlie’s dead, now. Does it really matter who was his study buddy?”  
“Yes.” Stryker said, patiently. “When that study buddy is Tony Stark; when that means _someone’s_ going to want to the death investigated; or at least his body found, it matters!”

“We’ll have to be careful.” Kurt said.  
“We?” Stryker smiled, unpleasantly. “If you’ve no company, where’s my money coming from? I don’t work for free, legally or… otherwise.”  
“Yeah, we.” Kurt smiled, too. “I’m not going down alone, you get me?”  
“Yeah.” Cain said. They older men ignored him.

“Well, our next move seems clear.” Stryker said.  
“Does it?” Kurt began to pace up and down the room, irritably.  
“When they come back from meeting those primitives; they’ll be hot. Tired.”  
“Probably mad as hell; if they ask ‘em the questions we got asked.” Cain said, thoughtfully.  
“That when they’ll be off guard.” Kurt said, gleefully. “So we can”-  
“No” Stryker was forceful. “That’s when we act nice, and _make sure they blame the natives._ ”

“For what?” Kurt ranted. “They didn’t buy”-  
“For Xavier’s death.” Stryker cut in. “Stark’s a good businessman, but he’s impatient; impulsive about his friends. Or he wouldn’t be here. We just have to encourage that, and the People won’t be a problem anymore. And then we’ll have something on _him._ ”  
“But what about”-  
“He’s hardly going to throw the former owner off the board right away.” Stryker cut across Kurt, impatiently. “Not if the company performs well.”

“Not if we helped him clean up the planet.” Cain said. “And we do still have shares in”-  
“Marko Industries is _mine._ ” Kurt said flatly. “But I reckon Stark’ll be a useful weapon, if we point him in the right direction.”  
The Alien Ship was awesome. The People designed their space borne homes with a fluid elegance that married form and function almost perfectly. Tony thought he might be in love. He had to discover more. The suit would understand. JARVIS might be willing to share. Pepper… probably not so much.

“Tony. _Tony_ ” Charles was laughing again. “You’re going to walk into something. Stop staring, there’s plenty of time to stroke the nice advanced alien ship later.”  
“Whuzuh?” Tony scowled at his scanner. Charles smiled sheepishly at Grey, and the two who’d come from the engineering department, and took a firm but gentle hold of Tony’s elbow. Tony slapped his scanner screen and didn’t look up

“Is your heart brother always like this?” Grey said, affably. Charles blushed, and nodded at his adoptive father, steering Tony along with the ease of long practice.. Raven bit her lip, and pulled at her red, red hair. The People had fallen in love with Charles, alright; but she couldn’t help wondering how they felt about humans who weren’t Charles. 

“New tech, new anything- Tony has to know how it works.” Raven spoke cautiously. She’d gone blue once they were inside the ship and able to strip out of their enviro gear. Better they find out now how the People felt about blue shifting humans. Frost nodded at her.  
“That is good to know. No, we don’t care you are blue, by the way.” Her voice was cool, but kindly. Raven bridled. 

“Did Charles?-”  
“The Master Medic is also a telepath, Raven.” Charles said, hastily. Raven subsided.   
“Oh.”  
“Wait til you meet Jeannis.” Charles said, enthusiastically. “She’s part of House Grey, too.” He smiled, ruefully. “I haven’t quite sorted out the terms but- we’re family of a sort, now.”

Tony advanced on a wall plate with a screwdriver and an eager light in his eyes. Raven and Charles, recognising the signs, took him by the arms again, and walked him past it. Tony made a protesting noise. He couldn’t just leave all this lovely data behind!  
“You can talk to Engineering later.” Charles said steadily.

“Only you could get _adopted_ by people you were trying to protect, Charles.” Raven’s voice was quiet.  
“It was because he tried to protect us we knew looked closely enough to realise he was worth adopting.” Grey said, equally quietly. “We hope you and Tony Stark will come to feel the same way about us.”

“What?” Raven blinked, letting go of Tony’s arm.  
“Family is family.” Grey smiled at her, ears cocked. “Whether or not you choose House Grey- or any other family or clan- Charles will always be your brother. And so we will always be connected, too.”  
“Although he hopes you will choose House Grey.” Frost put in with amusement. “Because he is greedy.”

Grey grinned, unrepentantly.  
“What?” Raven said, again.  
“We can discuss family after food.” Frost said. “Charles…” Charles looked up from Tony’s scanner screen.  
“Yes?” He sounded wary.

“You will eat and then you must rest, for a little while.”  
“I- I’m not tired, Medic Frost.” Charles’ eye wandered to Raven.  
“No? You will still rest.” Frost said, serenely. Raven gaped, as Charles nodded almost meekly. She grinned, and poked Tony.

“Whu?” Tony blinked as if rising from a deep sleep.  
“Are you getting this?” she hissed at him.  
“What?”  
“They’re making him eat lunch and take a nap-“  
“I’m making you _all_ eat lunch.” Frost spoke without turning her head. “And then Engineering would like to meet with you, Tony Stark.”  
“Before you given in to the urge to disable Iron Flame without their presence.” Grey put in, amused. “And I would be honoured if you walk with me a little, child.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony thinks and reacts.

Lunch was tasty enough; although the drink Charles kept pressing on Tony and the rest of the humans, _neem_ was truly disgusting. Tony didn’t care how healthy and good for everyone it was; if something tasted like that, it had better be a mood lifter or alcoholic, if he was going to drink any of it.

Engineering was _incredible._ The People had such _interesting_ ideas, and an equally, if not greater interest, in Tony’s ideas.

He escaped from the Engineering love fest eventually. Tony liked sharing ideas and bouncing tech tricks off fellow experts as much as the next genius, but these people were intense. Language barriers are always less of a problem when he’s got his own software with him, plus a startling number of the People have learned English.

He can probably thank Charles for that one.

And it’s great, it’s fine, and he didn’t even mind the inevitable questions about his parents, his family. No one here knows anything about Howard (except Charles, and he wouldn’t say anything, ever). The People are a very… family minded species- half the crew in engineering are cousins, or siblings, or something.

He got they’re kind of surprised that he has no kids, although it doesn’t say much for their insight. (Honestly, who’d trust him with a kid?) but they seem to accept his half-assed explanation about his friends being his family, which is a relief. Pepper and Rhodey and Charles and Raven are enough for him. He wouldn’t be able to manage more, even if there were that many bright people out there who could tolerate Tony Stark and weren’t after what he could do for them. 

Speaking of Charles, Tony thought, where has he gone off to? Probably gone wandering again, with Raven. Charles is determined to explore every millimetre of the Iron Flame before he’s recovered enough to leave. If he leaves. Tony can only sympathise. Iron Flame is beautiful. And much, much, safer than human space, for Charles, although Tony has a few plans- well, Pepper has the plans, Tony has the money and the will- to change _that_ , asap.

Whatever the Markos did to Charles, and he still won’ttalk about it, it almost killed him. The medical cat told them that; and even if she hadn’t, Charles is thinner, and more worn looking than Tony has seen in years. Since he was getting himself and Raven away from the Markos the first time round, in fact. The sleek grey clothes he’s wearing cover most of Charles’ skin, but Tony is prepared to bet he’d got fresh scars somewhere.

But he hasn’t seen anything yet. Charles should be twitchier, though. Well- Tony frowns, as he walks, correcting himself- not _should_ be. It’s just. Charles worries, usually, about strangers. He wants them to like him. (Which is crazy, because, hello, has Charles ever _met_ himself? Everyone loves him, who isn’t crazy _themselves._ Fact.) But here… Charles is not worried. Not flinching. 

He doesn’t know how they did it, but Tony would bet The People are responsible for that; it makes him want to kiss them all. And maybe find out if it could be bottled; or something- Charles can’t stay here forever… can he? Tony shakes away that question with others, quickly.

A lot depends on dealing with the Markos. And Stryker’s guys. Tony kind of wants to kill them all, very slowly, and then resurrect them so it can be done again. He gets the feeling that some of Charles’ People feel the same way; that they maybe could help out; perhaps by distracting Charles while he, Tony, sics Pepper on the whole sorry lot of them.

They deserve her wrath. And Tony’s. They hurt Tony’s friend. They tried to kill him; because he didn’t want them to commit genocide. They deserve everything they’re going to get. Tony brushed aside the rage and fear knowing that Charles had been _tortured_ brought in its wake. _Everyone_ here is an empath, apart from him and Raven. Strong emotions make ripples in the mindground of the ship which are pretty noticeable, apparently.

Tony calmed himself thinking about how lucky the human race was that the first major contact the People had with a representative of humanity was with Charles Xavier; who was one of the best humans- best people- Tony had ever met. 

Without his unthinking generosity, his protectiveness to people he thought were weaker- well. The People are clearly not the dirt-grubbers the MArkos took them for; if they’d got very far with their little murder scheme, the consequences for the the rest of humanity could have been… bad. 

He walked. No one stopped him, or challenged him- every one of the cats seemed to know who he was, and why he was there. Tony was used to be recognised, of course, but this was- different. Probably the telempathy.

Charles tried to explain mindground to Tony before; shown him what it feels/looks like to a telepath- a chorus of voices singing flowers, a gently shining sea of many colours. Tony wished he could detect it himself. Mostly because, right now, he’d have known where Charles was an hour ago.

He found him eventually. Charles was in the herbal section of the hydroponics garden again. The swarm of little cats around him had clearly worked out that the best way to keep Charles still is to actually sit on him. He had one arm around Raven and the other about the little telepath cat, Jane, Jean something like that. He’s got a reader with him.

As Tony got closer, he recognised what Charles is reading to them all.   
“Now attend, and listen O best beloveds!” Just So Storie. Charles always loved Kipling. The kitties all gave out happy noises and Raven looked up to smile at him. Tony sat down on the outskirts of the group. 

Two of the smallest kittens promptly migrated onto Tony’s lap, pinning him in place. Tony yanked his arms into the air. Charles glanced up from the reader, and grinned at Tony’s expression of frozen repressed horror, before turning back to “The Cat That Walked by Himself.” 

Slowly Tony lowered his arms again and he was absolutely not hugging small children, at all. He’s just… resting his arms. Yeah. That’s all. The fact that he was resting his arms around the kittens? The kittens that were snuggling him? Coincidence, pure and simple. They were fascinated by the story anyway. Charles was reading it in English, and providing a running translation with his mind.

 _We need to see the Ship Master._ Charles said, silently. _Just let me finish this story and we can go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, an actual update, from me, on something that isn't End of the Tour.  
> Life is getting better, so here, have some words. Let me know what you think?


End file.
